Unbreaking
by VR Trakowski
Summary: Too many pieces... GSR COMPLETE
1. Default Chapter

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: Clichés four, five, twelve, and forty-seven, but I've always wanted to write one of these. Rating may change later. Thanks yet again to Cincoflex, who never fails to be wonderfully encouraging, and who thought of the title.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

It was a bit ironic, doing the research in the middle of everybody, digging up secrets she'd kept for a long time. But no one was paying the least bit of attention. The boys were talking in the breakroom, Catherine was busy, and Grissom--

She looked over, and saw Grissom talking to Sofia. Letting Sofia perch on the edge of his desk and invade his personal space. Smiling at her.

It made Sara angry, and it made her tired. She started her search query and looked back again, and this time Grissom looked up and saw her watching him.

Even at that distance she saw a faint flush tinge his face. He said something to Sofia and stood, and Sofia slid off the edge of the desk; they exchanged a few more words before she turned and left. Sara went back to her research.

He appeared on the edge of her vision a few minutes later, waiting for her to acknowledge him and finally sighing when she didn't. "Sara, it's not what it looks like."

"You don't have to explain anything to me." She didn't lift her eyes from the screen.

"I don't..." He trailed off, and she didn't move, didn't even blink. "It wasn't my idea."

A bitter, impish impulse hit her. "I didn't say anything, Grissom, but I suppose I'd have to go with the evidence."

Her peripheral vision was good. He was blinking, obviously struggling to articulate something. "It's...circumstantial at best."

"Better than hearsay." She didn't bother to look at him, instead clicking on another link on the computer screen. "Sure feels like shit, doesn't it, boss?"

She could almost feel the shock. He stared at her for another long moment, then apparently lost whatever battle he'd been waging, because he just sighed and walked away.

She didn't watch him go.

**xxxx**

Out of all of it, the most annoying thing was the constant trickle of water coming in the broken window. Blip, blip, never quite regular enough for him to expect it, but each chilly splash was its own little irritation on his scorched cheek. Almost enough to make him mad.

Except, it was also a distraction from worse things, and he was already mad. Also upset, in pain, freezing cold, and scared. Very scared.

_Get a grip, Stokes. Panicking won't help anything and it **will** make things worse._ He shuddered, and tried yet again to free himself from his restraint, but he didn't have enough leverage.

Plus, his shoulder hurt like crazy, and pushing only made stars go off in the corners of his eyes.

_What a laugh. I'm soaking wet in the middle of the desert and what should have been a lifesaver may kill me yet._ Though that wasn't quite fair--if he hadn't been wearing his seatbelt, he would be very messily dead.

Nick relaxed as much as he could, which wasn't much, and tried again. "Sara?"

This time, he was rewarded. A groan filtered up from the space below him. "Sara, talk to me, sugar."

"Nick?" Her voice was slurred, but she was awake. He thanked God silently.

"It's me, all right. How do you feel?"

He couldn't see her down there; he couldn't see much of anything, in fact. The SUV's headlights were out, and there wasn't anything around to give off light. But he heard her stir, and suck in a breath that ended in a cough. "Like hell."

"Join the club." He pushed once more against the belt, but his right foot was held in the collapsed space that had held the SUV's pedals, and he'd scrabbled and struggled and he just couldn't get free. Fortunately for him, his foot didn't seem to be too badly injured--just caught. But that was plenty.

"Do you remember what happened?"

Another groan. "Sort of."

"Can you move? I'm kind of--stuck."

"I don't know, give me a minute." Her voice was strained, and Nick knew she had to be hurt too. There was a rustle of cloth, a rattle, and a grunt. "Uh...no."

Nick frowned into the dark, trying to figure out how she might be pinned. "Is there something on top of you?"

"Besides you?" There was just a hint of humor in her tone. "I'm...not stuck, Nick."

He was cold, and stressed, and that took a few seconds to process. When it did, he swallowed hard. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know." And somehow he knew that was half a lie. "But let's just say I'm gonna be stuck in the lab for a while if we get out of this."

"_When_ we get out of this," he corrected immediately, denying Murphy and all his kin. "Grissom's going to miss us pretty soon, if he hasn't already."

A faint "Ya think?" was all he got. Nick shuddered at the cold and her sarcasm, and suddenly, absurdly, found himself thinking of the lights in the lab and wondering why they never seemed to get fixed.

_Focus, man. Remember what happened. _

He patterned it out in his head. Catherine had lent him to the night shift because both Greg and Sophia were out with the flu; it had felt nice but weird to be back, there'd been too much change lately, little of it good.

A mountain crime scene, and he and Sara summoned to it; driving into heavy rain; Sara calling Grissom for more specific directions; rounding the curve in the darkness, a slope up one side and a slope down on the other...

...And the rush and rumble of the hillside above them giving way, overburdened with rain.

Nick remembered the vibrations as the SUV's tires skidded sideways across the tarmac, and the dreadful slow tip over the edge, but the tumble was scarcely more than a racket of sound in his head--the crush of metal and glass, the slam of the vehicle as it rolled over and over, his own voice shouting some furious swearword. When the falling stopped, there had been a breath's worth of silence, and then--with timing a Vegas performer would envy--the airbag had activated in his face.

That, out of all the jolts, had made him lose consciousness, though he didn't think he'd been out for more than thirty seconds or so. He'd woken to rain, darkness, and a left shoulder that was a mass of pain; he must have hit it against the door at least once. His right hand was caught underneath his seatbelt and going numb.

His cheek stung and his mouth tasted of blood, thanks to the airbag, and he was half-dangling over the passenger seat. He didn't know how long it had taken for Sara to wake up, but he did know it was much longer than he liked. He could smell raw mud and the sharp green of damaged vegetation, mixed with the reek from the mangled engine, and counted his blessings that the vehicle hadn't caught on fire. _Yet, anyway._ And then cursed himself for the thought.

"Sara, sweetheart, can you reach your phone or your flashlight or anything?" The fact that she hadn't done so already alarmed him; normally she would be the first to try to better their situation.

Another rustle. "My light's...I can't reach it. I don't know where my phone is."

That's right, he remembered now that she'd been talking to Grissom when they'd slid off the road. It was probably lost somewhere in the mudslide.

_This isn't good._

At least Sara was wearing her jacket, he distinctly remembered her zipping it up as they left the lab. His own was twisted around him, but he was grateful for its warmth. _Though it won't be enough, eventually. _It wasn't freezing, and wasn't likely to drop that far, but it was plenty cold enough to kill them both eventually if they didn't get help.

Of course, his injuries weren't that severe, as far as he could tell. He'd probably survive longer than Sara, he'd get to listen to her breathing slow down and stop--

Nick shook his head violently, ignoring the pain it brought. "Well, there's no way I can reach mine." It was lodged behind his right hip. "Don't suppose you could reach up here?"

Sara sighed in the darkness. "I don't think so, Nick."

He bit his lip. He remembered plenty of emergency first aid, but it was all useless at the moment. All he could do was try to keep them both from slipping into shock. "Tell me where it hurts."

A sniff, as though she would have snorted if she'd had the strength. "What, you're a doctor now, Stokes?"

"Closest thing we've got," he joked. "Unless you attended the last safety seminar. Which I know you didn't."

"I was working," she retorted. "Hot case."

"They're all hot to you. Answer the question, Sar."

"Ugh. I hurt all over. How about you?"

"Quit being evasive."

"Answer me and I'll answer you."

"Fine." He sighed. "I think I've got a busted shoulder, and I can't feel my right hand, but other than that I'm just banged up. Your turn."

"Nick..."

Fear drove his words, made them harsh. "Tell me, Sara. Hiding it won't help anything."

She grunted. "Broken ribs," she said after a moment. "There's something sharp poking into my right arm. My head's bleeding. That enough for you?"

"Is that all?" he countered sternly.

A little silence, and then-- "I'm losing body heat kind of fast, Nick. I'm lying in a puddle here."

His mind raced helplessly over the implications. Rapid loss of body heat could indicate external bleeding from something besides a head wound. Not to mention, _internal _bleeding was a distinct possibility with broken ribs.

He said the only thing he could think of. "They'll find us soon."

She breathed out, a ghost of a chuckle. "Depends. Grissom has to notice first."

"You think he won't?"

"You know how he gets at a crime scene."

"He's not that bad." If nothing else, Nick knew, Grissom would notice when he wanted someone for a specific task. "Keep talking to me. We have to stay alert."

"Speak for yourself."

He chuckled at her tone, though it hurt his shoulder. "Aw, c'mon, don't go to sleep and leave me here all by my lonesome."

He couldn't see her at all, but he got the feeling she was smiling. "CSI Level Three Nicky Stokes, afraid of the dark?"

He clicked his tongue. "You guessed my secret."

"Don't worry. I'm good at keeping 'em." Her voice was a little fainter, and alarm ran down his spine.

"Grissom'll notice," he said firmly, and remembered. "Heck, you were on the phone with him when we crashed. He'd notice _that._"

Sara groaned a little. "I lost the phone when we started to slide, Nick. It probably shut off. He'll just think we lost the signal."

"But you didn't call back," he pointed out, wishing again that the rain would stop dripping on him.

"He's probably relieved," she muttered sourly.

"Hey now. Don't go getting all maudlin on me."

"Oh, please." There was anger in her voice now, and inwardly Nick cheered it; anger would keep her alert longer. If it took poking at her sore spot to keep her angry, he would do it. "This is logic."

"Logic? You'll have to explain that one to me, sugar, I'm feeling a little slow tonight."

Another sigh. "Nick, you may have gone to swing, but don't tell me you didn't notice before."

"Hey," he interrupted, not having to feign a flash of temper. "We didn't _go_ to swing, we got moved there. Nobody asked us."

She was silent for a moment, and the fact that she didn't snap right back at him cooled his anger with a wash of fear. "Yeah. Sorry."

Shame trickled through him. "Me too."

"What's it like?" she asked, and he grimaced unseen.

"Weird. Not bad weird, just weird weird. Cath's still jumpy, but I think she'll be a good supervisor when she settles down. But we miss you guys."

"I miss you too," Sara answered, and Nick winced a little at the pronoun. He heard her move slightly, and it was a splashy sound.

"How's the head?"

"Still bleeding."

He worked his ankle in tiny circles, trying yet again to figure out an angle to pull it free. "You sure it's not just the rain?"

"Rain's cold, Nick. Blood's warm."

"Oh." He bit his lip, and winced. _Okay, genius, not when you've got a burned face. _"So what are you going to do with the vacation we'll get after this?" He tried to sound cheerful.

"Stay warm," she returned, and he remembered anew how much she hated the cold. "Maybe look for another job."

Dismay had his lips parting. "You're thinking of leaving?"

She gave that faint chuckle. "I should have left long ago."

"C'mon, Sar, the shift thing'll settle down soon--"

"Give me a break, Nick." Her voice was hard. "This has nothing to do with that." She made another sound, one that was muffled but that still made his stomach twist, and when she spoke again her voice was noticeably weaker. "I should never have come. Or I should have gone right home again after I was done."

"I thought you liked it here." He had no trouble understanding her, and he couldn't keep the pain from his voice, though he tried.

"I did," she answered, as though trying to reassure him. "Once. Not anymore."

He was starting to get angry again. "It's Grissom's fault, isn't it?"

Another splash. "Not really, Nick. Or only partly. I did most of this to myself." She laughed without humor, and coughed.

"Sara, hold still!"

"I'm _wet," _she complained hoarsely.

"Live with it. What did you do to yourself?"

"Oh, let's see," she muttered. "Chased a guy for three years. Had him turn me down flat. Had one of my best friends use me. Found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. Nearly got blown up. Found out the guy I've been chasing cares about me, but not _enough._ Got turned down for a promotion. Got pulled over on a DUI." She coughed again. "Then the team I work with gets broken up, so there's nobody left to notice when I'm having a hard time. The guy I've been chasing turns out to be interested in the new girl. Everything's going to hell in a handbasket, and _then_ I fall over a cliff and I'm lying in a puddle freezing while you ask me stupid questions "

Nick's head spun at her words, and he could feel his throat getting tight. _I knew she was having a bad time__...but... _He wanted to apologize for all of them--he wanted to be able to give her the hug she deserved, to offer her comfort in the best way he knew. But there were more immediate concerns. _Keep her mad, remember?_

He made his voice harsh. "How're we supposed to notice, Sara? You never let anyone in anymore."

A longer silence, and it started to scare him; just as he was about to say her name, she broke it.

"You know what, Nick? It doesn't matter." She didn't sound angry; she just sounded weary. "None of it matters anymore. I give up. I can't advance professionally and I can't win personally."

"Sara--"

Her voice was quieter. "No more brick walls, Nick. Grissom called me here, and all I've done since is make myself miserable. Gonna quit."

"Sara! Stop it." Panic was biting at him again.

One more ghost-chuckle. "Maybe I'll go work for the FBI. Or maybe I'll just go to sleep here."

"Sara, sugar, don't do this. Stay awake. You have to stay awake."

"Says who?" Softer still. "Damn Grissom anyway, for making me love him."

Nick seized on that with a desperate grip. "What'll it do to him if you die here, Sara, tell me that? You know he--cares about you."

"Does not. Prefers blondes." Her words were slurring a little.

"It'll destroy him to lose you."

"No it won't." She mumbled something he couldn't quite catch. "I'm _cold, _Nick."

"So'm I, Sara, stay with me!"

Another mumble. "Say that again, sugar, I didn't hear you."

"Nick?"

"I'm here, Sara. Talk to me."

Her voice was almost inaudible now. "Take care of them, okay? Take care of him."

"Sara, don't!"

There was no answer.

**xxxx**

His tears were scorching his cheeks. He didn't know how many times he called her name, begging her to answer, commanding her, without response. It seemed like forever before lights shone down from above, before voices shouted and bodies came sliding down the hill. He winced at the flashlight beams that pierced the broken windshield and caught on his face; one voice he didn't recognize, but the other was familiar. "Nick? _Sara?_"

"We're here," he shouted, seeing little besides the jumping lights until two forms rounded the crumpled SUV. A state trooper, and Grissom, both streaked with mud. "She needs help, you have to get her out!"

Somebody moaned, and someone else swore, and he didn't know which of any of them it was. Then they shone the lights down below him, and he looked, and he knew it was him swearing this time.

Sara lay on her side, still belted in, the shattered glass of the side window covered by a muddy puddle that had an ominous scarlet tint. Her hair was matted with blood and her lips were blue-tinged and red-smeared.

And she didn't move.

His thoughts started to come unraveled as more people appeared and the thunder of a helicopter approached.

"Get her out first!" he protested, as hands took hold of him and lifted. "Let me go, I can wait--"

"Nick, relax and let them help you." Grissom's voice was strained. "They can't move her until they move you."

He grunted in pain. "My foot's stuck."

There were long minutes of delay, discussion, and he wanted to scream at them. One of the troopers began carefully knocking out the remaining glass of the windshield, and as soon as he was done an EMT knelt in the mud outside, leaning in over Sara's still form. He blocked Nick's view, but it didn't matter as long as she was getting care--

He was starting to lose it. His awareness kept fading in and out, even though Grissom kept talking to him in that soft urgent voice. He couldn't _concentrate._ Then they brought in something that looked like a small chainsaw, and he was vaguely impressed at how low the EMT could crouch, and how the guy managed to ignore the racket just above his head as someone else cut through the tangle holding Nick's foot captive.

They lifted him free, telling him not to move, to let them do all the work. He recognized the stretcher they were strapping him on, and struggled a little, afraid that the chopper would leave too soon. "Sara," he pleaded, looking for understanding in the all-business faces above him. "We can't go without her--"

Grissom was there again, his face drawn, glancing back over his shoulder. "They won't leave without her, Nick. Just relax. Let them take care of you."

"I tried to keep her awake," Nick managed, trying to tell someone. "I tried."

"I know." Grissom's hand was warm on his head, the only part of him not covered. "I know you did."

He vanished, and there was no one left but strangers, talking over Nick like he wasn't even there. At least he was starting to get warm.

Then the helicopter roared, and he flew.

**See Chapter 2**


	2. 2

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: Clichés four, five, twelve, and forty-seven, but I've always wanted to write one of these. Rating may change later. Thanks yet again to Cincoflex, who never fails to be wonderfully encouraging, and who thought of the title.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Cheri had been a state trooper for over a decade. In that time she'd dealt with countless vehicular accidents, seen the mangled wrecks of cars fallen victim to the laws of physics, handled the traumatized survivors and onlookers. She was a professional, she was good at her job--and it wasn't easy, trying to do anything in law enforcement with a name like "Cheri"--she'd learned how to let the burdens go at the end of the shift. It was let them go or burn out, after all.

But that didn't mean she didn't feel for the victims.

Oh, it wasn't intense; after all, she didn't know them. But she could still empathize. And she did, letting it show just enough so that they knew she cared, that they weren't faceless to her.

This time it was no different. She and the CSI had slid down the steep muddy hill, hoping that it wouldn't collapse under them and praying fervently that both the passengers were still alive, and had been rewarded. One conscious, one not; the driver was injured and shocky, but coherent enough to tell them a little about what had happened. Fortunately, Rescue hadn't been far behind, and now the MedEvac helicopter was gone, its noise fading into the rainy sky.

That was the thing about accidents. Rescue came, Rescue departed, and so often there was someone left behind. Someone who watched their loved ones vanish, and had to follow not knowing if they were chasing death or a chance at life.

This one was no different. The CSI--Cernan? No, Grissom, that was it-- stood staring up at the clouds, even though the chopper's lights were gone. He was as muddy as Cheri, and was shivering a little, though she suspected it was more from distress than cold. He didn't seem to notice. The two accident victims were apparently members of his team; the conscious one certainly seemed to know him pretty well.

She looked around. The scene was under control, with other troopers making sure that the hill above the road was stable and dealing with the accident's aftermath. She stepped forward and touched the CSI's arm. "Dr. Grissom?"

He didn't start, but Cheri got the feeling that her hand brought him back from a very long distance. It took him a moment to turn and look at her, and when he did, she hid a wince. His face was impassive, but his eyes...

"I'll give you a lift to the hospital," she told him, and he nodded, and they turned to scramble back up the hill.

But he stopped before they got more than a few yards. "Go ahead," he called to her, and picked his way back down to the vehicle. Cheri finished the climb and turned to see what he was up to.

From her angle, thanks to the more powerful lights brought in, she could see him poking around in the front of the SUV; when he straightened, he was holding a dark rectangle that he pushed into his jacket pocket. Then the CSI leaned in until he was peering over the seats into the back. She saw him strain to reach something, but when he brought it out it was smaller, and she couldn't make out what it was before he tucked it away.

She had the cruiser's heater blasting by the time he reached the top. "Forget something?" she asked casually as he dropped into the passenger seat."

"Nick usually puts his wallet in the center console during long trips," the CSI said absently. He didn't continue, and Cheri didn't ask what else he'd found; she just pulled back onto the road.

He said nothing on the whole trip down. In fact, nothing on him moved but his thumb, which rubbed against the inside of his fingers in an obviously long-set pattern. Some people in his situation would chatter, babble even, unable to contain their anxiety, but he just sat. Cheri might almost think he didn't feel anything, except for the tension that was emanating from him like some strange form of energy. All his body was strung tight, leaning imperceptibly towards the hospital where his colleagues were.

Besides, she'd seen his eyes.

She'd let this one go too, at the end of her shift, deliberately smoothing the memory of his pain into forgetfulness, filing his name and those of his wounded colleagues into the portion of her mind that dealt only in facts, not in emotion.

But until then, she would do all that she could. And if that meant getting him to his friends faster, then that was her mission.

Cheri flipped on the flashers and siren. Faster it was.

**xxxx**

His thoughts kept circling, restlessly, too afraid to settle. A fact lay in the middle, a wretched, pain-filled fact, and he didn't want to touch it, but he couldn't forget it either. So he let his brain rattle on, tumbling over thoughts of bad hospital food and insurance deductibles and who'd won the game last night...

"Hey, man."

Nick looked up. Warrick was braced in the doorway. "Mind if I come in?"

Nick grinned wanly at him; his face didn't hurt today, the burn was almost gone. "Welcome to my world." He waved at the hospital room. "You can have the bed."

He himself had taken over the room's only chair; one day in bed was plenty. "I hope you're here to get me outta here."

"Soon as they sign your papers." Warrick sat on the end of the bed, bouncing a little to test the spring, and looked at Nick's sling. "How's the shoulder?"

Nick shrugged, one-sided. "I'll live." He'd apparently hit it on the window on the roll down the hill, dislocating it.

There was an awkward silence. Nick broke it, trying desperately to avoid the inevitable topic. "The doc should be here soon."

Warrick nodded. "We stopped by yesterday, but you were pretty out of it."

Another silence, and Nick's throat was getting tight again. _Don't make me say it, man,_ he wished desperately at his friend. _Don't--_

Warrick shifted uncomfortably, but before he said anything, another familiar figure walked in. "Good afternoon, gentlemen."

All Nick's pain and sorrow was suddenly transmuted into fury, and despite injuries, drugs, and not a decent meal in two days, he was on his feet, pressing Grissom into the wall with his good arm. "You unbelievable bastard," he hissed in his ex-supervisor's face.

"Nick!" Warrick jumped off the bed. "Nick, man, what are you doing?"

Grissom wasn't fighting; he was only watching Nick, eyes cool and regretful, despite the pressure across his collarbones. "I know," he said softly.

"You're the reason she's dead," Nick spat. "She gave up because of you!"

Grissom frowned at that, and Warrick's hands pulled Nick away. "What are you talking about, man? Sara's not dead."

Nick blinked, suddenly dizzy. "She's not?"

Warrick guided him over to the bed and made him sit down. "No. She's up in the ICU."

"She's in critical condition, but she's stable," Grissom added, pushing away from the wall as though being threatened was an everyday occurrence.

"Oh." Nick blinked again, trying to work through the confusion, feeling tremendous relief welling up beneath it. "Oh. Oh geez." _She's not deadshe'snotdead...she's alive-- _

Warrick sat down next to him. "You know Sara, she's a fighter. She's going to be fine."

Nick swallowed and exhaled, trying to calm his roiling insides. "What made you think she was dead?" Grissom asked, his expression showing no anger, only concern.

Nick shook his head. "I kept asking about her yesterday, and no one would tell me anything. They just kept saying they'd find out, but nobody ever did." He felt a little foolish now at the conclusion he'd jumped to, but their eyes were only compassionate, without a trace of amusement.

"Nick, they were worried about you," Warrick said, putting a hand on his good shoulder. "She's not in good shape, and you kept getting agitated."

"Oh," Nick said again, and looked up at Grissom. The older man regarded him calmly, and Nick realized that two years ago, or even one, he would have apologized to Grissom.

_Not any more._

"That doesn't make you any less of a bastard," he said coolly.

"I know," Grissom said again, still calm. "Warrick, would you excuse us for a minute?"

Warrick looked from one to the other, then raised his brows, gave a soft whistle, and rose to leave the room. "I'll give you three."

When the door closed behind him, Grissom turned back to Nick, who found his anger returning, if not so desperate. "How do you know?"

Grissom tilted his head. "Do you remember what you and Sara were doing when the slide hit you?"

"Yeah, I was driving, duh. And Sara was talking to you on her cell."

Grissom nodded. "She lost it in the accident, but it didn't shut off. The volume was turned down, and the phone landed behind her seat; they found it later."

Nick's brows went up as the picture came clear. "You heard us."

"Yes." Grissom's face was still, but there was a wealth of pain under his words. "But you couldn't hear me."

Nick winced as he imagined Grissom on the other end, hearing the wreck and the subsequent conversation yet unable to even reassure them that someone was coming. "We...didn't even know the phone was still in the car."

Grissom shoved his hands in his pockets. "It was a good thing; we might have taken longer to realize you were in trouble otherwise."

"Yeah." Nick shivered. "How is Sara, anyway?" Looking at Grissom's stillness, he had no doubt that the older man knew precisely.

"She hasn't really regained consciousness, but they've got her fairly heavily drugged," Grissom replied, and now the worry showed. "She's pretty agitated when she's aware enough. Apparently she believes we left you behind." His smile was small and sad. "She swears a lot."

Nick chuckled, surprised, and it felt good. "That's my girl."

"If you'd go up and see her, you might be able to reassure her," Grissom added, and Nick snorted.

"You'd need Brass and a full squad to keep me away." He stood up carefully. "Which room?"

"Warrick'll show you." Grissom didn't move, only watched him, and finally Nick sighed.

"What?"

"What she said..."

"Oh. Grissom--" He felt distinctly uncomfortable. "People say things they don't mean when they're hurt, you know that."

Grissom shook his head. "No. There are moments for truth, and that was one of them. No, I just wanted to ask..." He hesitated. "I...I couldn't hear what she said at the last."

Nick regarded him, seeing as if for the first time the bone-deep weariness of the man, and his pain. And it struck him afresh how much of a _waste_ the whole thing was. "She asked me to take care of the team." Never mind that they were split up now; they were still a team.

"Ah." Grissom nodded, as though he'd expected nothing else.

Nick walked past him, heading for the door, but when he reached it, his own compassion got the better of him. He turned a little, not quite looking over his shoulder. "And she asked me to take care of you."

He stepped through the door and closed it gently behind him.

**xxxx**

They were going to kick him out eventually. But for the moment, he was here, and he was staying.

Grissom watched from the hub of the ICU, leaning back against the nurses' station and observing Nick in one of the pods that spoked off from the hub. He was seated next to Sara's bed, looking like a hero with his sling and his bruises, and he was holding her hand with his still-swollen right one, talking to her softly. Her eyes weren't open, but at least she'd stopped the restless movements that had concerned the doctors.

The nurses moved around Grissom as though he were a particularly large potted plant; they were used to him by now. He'd been there all day yesterday and most of the night, barring a few bathroom breaks and a couple of visits to see Nick.

But the younger man had been asleep both times, and didn't remember.

A quiet step by his side made Grissom glance over, and the sight he saw made his eyes widen. The person standing next to him, mimicking his posture of folded arms, wasn't statistically the last person he expected to see, Grissom thought in astonishment. There were probably some folks in Mongolia or New Zealand who were less likely to be there. But the new assistant supervisor of the lab wasn't much further down the list.

Neither man said anything for a long moment, but finally Ecklie sighed. "How is she?"

Grissom restrained his impulse to reply with sarcasm, and repeated what he'd told Nick. "Critical, but stable. They think she'll recover."

Ecklie nodded, and just watched the two CSIs for another minute. "You people have until she's out of ICU," he said at last. "Then you start eating into your leave. Not that you don't have plenty of it."

The utter lack of insinuation in his tone took Grissom aback. Apparently sensing it, Ecklie turned his head to regard Grissom.

"I know you think I'm an ass, Gil," he said, with the little smile that usually made Grissom's hackles rise. "But I know what it's like to stand here and wait."

Grissom found himself without words. "Conrad...thanks," he finally managed.

Ecklie shrugged. "Just doing my job." And the statement was so loaded with irony that Grissom didn't know what to make of it. "Tell Sidle when she wakes up that the lab needs her."

He turned on his heel and left, leaving Grissom staring after him.

**xxxx**

They let him stay all that night, too. He sat in the chair by Sara's bed, holding her hand when it was permitted, which wasn't often; drifting on the edge of dream most of the rest of the time. Nick's visit appeared to have done the trick; Sara had calmed, and was herself sleeping for the most part. The doctors seemed pleased, and Grissom took heart from that.

But when she was aware, she didn't seem to recognize him, or anybody. It worried him, even though the doctors said it was normal for her head injury and level of sedation. They were more concerned about her internal injuries, and the threat of pneumonia. "No reserves," Grissom had heard one of them comment. "She's underweight."

The conversation he'd overheard through Sara's cellphone kept replaying in his head, with Nick's words and Ecklie's for fresh counterpoint.

_The lab needs her. _

_Prefers blondes. _

_I give up. _

_He--cares about you. _

_I should have left long ago. _

_She asked me to take care of you. _

_How did I let you get so far away? _he asked Sara's still form, knowing the answer and tasting it, bitter on his tongue. He could remember, quite clearly, her nervous words, asking him about the promotion, then asking him to forget that she'd said anything. _As though I could. _

That's when he'd thought it was over. That she'd moved on. That, whatever decision he came to about the two of them, it would be too late.

He'd struggled, since then, to try to restore something of their old friendship, especially after he'd taken her home from the police station. But it hadn't gone very well. _Did she think I was rejecting her friendship too? Never that. _

He glanced around, and seeing no soft-soled medical professional, took her cold hand in his again. No matter how long he held it, her skin never seemed to warm, though they kept a blanket pulled up to her chest. Grissom laced his fingers through hers, rubbing gently with his thumb, not sure whether he was trying to reassure her or himself.

There were more words, words he kept close to him even though they stung.

_Damn Grissom anyway, for making me love him. _

_I didn't mean to! _he cried silently, knowing even as the thought formed that it wasn't true. He just hadn't thought he'd _succeeded. _

What cruel hook was it in his persona, that made him retreat from her even as his own subconscious conspired to attract her? And why couldn't he have mastered it before things got so bad?

He didn't know what it was that made him look up, but when he did, her eyes were on him, and this time they were aware. He knew that cool, evaluating gaze--he'd seen it trained on a thousand pieces of evidence and many a suspect. He opened his mouth, prepared to say her name, to reassure.

She pulled her hand from his grasp and laid her arm carefully across her abdomen, below the bulge of bandage. He followed it with his gaze, taken aback, and when he looked up to her face she was watching the ceiling. After a moment her eyes closed again.

Once upon a time, as a kid, he'd swallowed wrong and gotten an ice cube lodged in his throat. This felt much the same--the painful, icy choke, the sense of panic. Muscles spasmed, and he swallowed, and the feeling lessened, settling into his stomach to take up residence.

He sat back in the chair to wait, but they sent him home before her eyes opened again.

**See Chapter 3**


	3. 3

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: Clichés four, five, twelve, and forty-seven, but I've always wanted to write one of these. Rating may change later. Thanks yet again to Cincoflex, who never fails to be wonderfully encouraging, and who thought of the title.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

_Well, you wanted more responsibility. You've got it, in spades. _Catherine reached wearily for another folder on her crowded desk. _At least you know how to do the job. _

It wasn't the first time she'd worked a job and a half--she'd done it almost every time Grissom had been out of town--but she'd never handled two supervisory positions at once before.

_Not to mention, night shift is practically nonexistent, and swing shift is making itself scarce. _She glanced up as a slumped form went past her office at about half its usual speed. It looked as though Sofia, at least, had dragged herself in. Catherine didn't know the woman well enough to like or dislike her, though her former status as Ecklie's pet was enough to inspire mistrust. But Catherine had to admit that Sofia was good at her job.

_And she's here. Unlike Greg. _Not that she could blame the younger CSI. Warrick had stopped by to see him, and had reported that Greg could barely get from bedroom to bathroom and back again, and was absolutely anguished that he would be barred from the hospital for at least a week even after he was able to stand up straight.

_And meanwhile, Nick's out at least two more days, and between him and Sara and Grissom, Warrick can't handle any overtime. _The Sheriff had called in a favor, and there were a few temp CSIs coming in from Carson City for dayshift, while some of the day folks would move to nights temporarily. _Not ideal, but it can't be helped. _

If Sofia were here, though, that meant that Catherine was past the end of her shift. She stared at the mounds of paperwork and considered staying longer.

_But I'm so exhausted I can't see straight. And I'm not going to get much sleep tomorrow anyway. _She planned to swing by the hospital in the morning to see Sara, and Lindsey wanted to go along. The request had surprised Catherine somewhat--Warrick and Grissom were the lab people her daughter knew best--but at Catherine's startled blink, Lindsey had reminded her tartly that Sara had taken care of her after Eddie's death.

_I didn't forget, exactly. I just didn't want to remember. _The whole mess had been so horrible--a mix of fury and grief and secret, shamed relief--

_Well, we can go out to breakfast together. I can't waste the chance. _

She flipped the folder closed, dropped it on her desk, and rose, grabbing her purse from the desk drawer. _I hope Sara is better. Warrick says she is, but--_ She shuddered at the memory, seeing Sara bruised and bandaged and so frighteningly still in the hospital bed. "Flowers," she said out loud. "Not that she'll like them much, but it's too early for anything else." _Like a forensics journal. _

And snorting at the image--Sara was going to be a handful as soon as she got her energy back--Catherine closed her office door.

**xxxx**

He had to admit, he did feel better.

Grissom stepped off the elevator into the ICU, definitely feeling more alert after a shower, six hours of sleep, and some food. He intended to drop by the lab that night, but Catherine had told him that things were under control for the moment, and anyway he had someplace else to be.

Here.

He could see across the hub of the unit; the curtains were drawn in front of Sara's pod, and he slowed, wondering if she was being examined or bathed or something. But as he came abreast of the nurses' station, a familiar blonde head poked through the curtain. He waved.

Lindsey looked back over her shoulder, then stepped through the curtain, pulling it shut behind her. Grissom took one stride forward, only to halt at a hand on his arm. "Hold on a minute, please, sir."

He glanced over at the young man. "Is there a problem?"

Instead of answering, the nurse spoke to the woman seated at the station. "Is this one Sidle or Grissom?"

"I'm Gil Grissom," he interrupted, impatient. The woman nodded, and the nurse tugged at his arm.

"I'm sorry, Dr. Grissom, you're not allowed back there."

"I can wait."

The nurse shook his head, looking regretful. "No, you're on the restricted list."

The words didn't make sense. "What?"

The man sighed, but didn't release Grissom, obviously prepared for a fuss. "Ms. Sidle has requested that you not be allowed in to see her."

Forget ice cubes; he'd swallowed a whole winter. "I...are you sure?"

The woman behind the counter tapped the paper in front of her. "Only two names on the list, sir--Dr. Grissom and a Mr. Charles Sidle."

Grissom shook his head distractedly. This was wrong, somehow. "But..."

A small cool hand slid into the crook of his unencumbered arm. "Come on, Uncle Gil," Lindsey said. "Let's go outside."

Numb, he let her lead him away.

**xxxx**

There were a lot of things Lindsey hated. Her mother's job, the way she still missed her dad, the people who'd killed him. The way she felt sometimes, all sad and lost and angry. The fact that she couldn't seem to talk with her mom anymore without one of them getting mad.

But there were good things too. They had money, now; she got to go to her grandfather's place and ride horses, even if Granddad wasn't somebody she liked very much; and she saw a little more of her mom now that Catherine worked swing shift.

It was easy to remember all the times she'd visited the Crime Lab, often ending up taking a nap on the breakroom couch and sometimes going out for breakfast with the team. They were adults, but nice ones--Nick and Greg teasing her, Captain Brass pulling a quarter from her ear when he remembered, Warrick always good for a bearhug. She was too old for that now, of course, but they were good memories.

Sara she remembered mostly as a tall, calm presence, more an impression of intensity than anything else. But Warrick had told her how long and how hard Sara had worked to try to get the people who'd killed Lindsey's dad. She hadn't been able to, but she'd _tried._

So when Catherine had said she was going to the hospital, Lindsey had decided to come along.

And when she'd seen the look on Uncle Gil's face when they told him he couldn't go in, she'd decided to do something about it.

It was a bit of a weird feeling, leading him along out of ICU towards the waiting area beyond, and it took her a few seconds to figure it out. She felt--adult. Like he was the kid for once. But she put the thought aside to consider later, and shoved him gently towards one of the chairs. He sat down automatically, still looking blank, and she sat down next to him. There were other people in the lounge, but none of them were close by. "Are you all right, Uncle Gil?"

She knew he wasn't, but the question was enough to make him blink and focus on her. A little sad smile appeared. "No."

One thing about Uncle Gil, he had never lied to her, though he wouldn't always answer questions either.

"Mom says she's just really tired," Lindsey told him judiciously. "She probably is thinking kind of fuzzy right now."

"Mm." It was an I'm-thinking noise, and Lindsey said nothing, letting him think. Mom always said that he did too much thinking, but Lindsey figured that something like this required it. After all, everyone--according to Mom--knew that Uncle Gil loved Sara. Not being let in to see her--that had to hurt.

"I guess I screwed it up," he said at last, very quietly.

"Maybe you could send her some flowers," Lindsey suggested. That was what guys did on TV, and her dad had sometimes brought home huge bouquets after he and Mom had had a fight.

Uncle Gil's mouth twitched up at one corner. "Maybe," he agreed, but his voice was so sad that Lindsey couldn't help leaning against him and putting an arm around his back. She wasn't into hugging people much any more, but this was Uncle Gil--the guy who used to take her out to amusement parks, who bought her weird birthday presents, who took care of her mom when Catherine needed it.

He sighed, and his big arm went around her shoulders, pulling her a little closer. He smelled clean, the way her dad hadn't always, and he was solid and safe.

They sat there for a little while, and when Catherine sat down on the other side of him, her face was soft. "Hey, Gil," she said quietly, but she gave Lindsey a look that made her feel warm all the way through, and Lindsey realized it had been a while since she'd gotten that look.

Pride.

Catherine took Uncle Gil's free hand in hers, and they sat for a while longer, just the three of them, being family for him. And that was all right.

**xxxx**

The first time he'd seen her, she'd been an unwelcome intrusion, a stranger interrupting his feverish quest to make enough money to cover his stupid mistake. It hadn't taken more than a few sentences exchanged for him to figure out who she was, and on one level it had surprised him--he'd never really thought about what a friend of Grissom's would look like, but he hadn't expected her to be quite that young.

A bustling little investigator in a labcoat or sweater, he mused now, holding one slender hand in his. Somebody fortyish, maybe with those glasses on a chain. Not tall, relentless Sara Sidle.

Warrick shifted, resting his elbows on his knees without releasing her hand, and watched her. She tended to wake up every so often for a few minutes at a time, long enough to say something or ask for a drink or just smile wearily before sliding back into sleep. The doctors seemed cautiously pleased with her progress, and he leaned hard on that.

_It's a shame that it took something like this to bring us back together. _If there was still a together for them. Warrick couldn't quite pinpoint the moment when the night shift had begun disintegrating, but Ecklie's dividing them up had been more of a final blow than a beginning. Except now here they all were again, pulling together around a common center.

Well, almost all of them.

_It's only been four days, _Warrick reminded himself, stroking Sara's fingers with his and noting absently the boniness of her knuckles. _It seems like so much longer. _

Four days, starting with Grissom's dead-calm phone call that had betrayed so much fear beneath. Driving like a maniac to reach the hospital, only to realize that he'd actually beaten the MedEvac chopper there, and then hours of waiting. Finding himself the center of gravity for that, first for pale Catherine and a Brass who looked like he was waiting for someone to punch him again, then for others--Doc and David, both of them quiet; Jacquie and Archie, who sat together and whispered for a while; a couple of Nick's buddies from the force, looking uncomfortable.

And finally Grissom, whose face was like winter and whose ripped jacket bore smears of blood. Catherine had jumped up to peel it off him, but she couldn't do anything about his pants, which were soaked and muddy from the knees down.

They waited, like the family they'd once been, for news of any kind, or just to be there. Eventually most of them had had to leave again, though not before hearing that Nick, at least, was resting quietly and would be okay.

Nobody knew about Sara, though.

Grissom had made Catherine go home eventually, after everyone else had gone, and after Warrick had promised to call her the moment they had any news. And the two of them had waited. In silence, and a kind of despair.

Sara moaned softly, and Warrick straightened, focusing on her face. But her eyes didn't open, and after a moment he settled back, hoping that her dreams, at least, were good.

He knew he shouldn't be here--he should be at home, trying to catch up on sleep before he too came down with the flu, or worse. But he felt the need to hold vigil.

After all, who else was coming?

That wasn't quite fair, he chastised himself. Catherine came by when she could, and Nick had taken a cab in twice. David had been by at least once and Brass three times, and Warrick knew very well that if Greg were healthy enough, he would have to be removed with a crowbar.

But no one was coming from California. Catherine had made the next-of-kin calls, and she'd told Warrick earlier, quietly appalled, that while Nick had five family members listed, Sara's listing was the Las Vegas Crime Lab.

And for whatever reason, she'd barred Grissom from visiting.

_So I guess it's up to us. _Ecklie's unexpected mercy gave them a little more leeway, but since he technically wasn't nightshift any more, Warrick was trying not to abuse it.

Sara's fingers flexed in his, and Warrick looked up again, hopeful. Her eyes opened slowly, and he grinned. "Hey, beautiful."

She smiled the slightest bit. "...'Rick."

He wasn't sure if she was using Brass' nickname for him, or if her voice simply wasn't cooperating. "How you feeling?"

Her lip lifted in a faint snarl, and he chuckled. "Gotcha, dumb question." He reached for the cup on the table nearby. "Ready for another drink?"

It was an obvious effort for her to lean her head forward even the small amount required for a sip through the straw, and it made him ache to watch. But she didn't fall right back to sleep when he put the cup back, and a small surge of hope ran through him.

"You missed David earlier," he told her. "Should have seen him, standing there looking like he wanted to kiss you or something, fiancée or not. " He took heart from her tiny smirk. "And Vartan and O'Reilly stopped by, but the staff wouldn't let 'em in."

Her lips moved, and he made out the word even though there was no sound behind it. _Nick?_

"He's fine," Warrick reassured her. "Bitching about his shoulder, and he's worried like crazy about you. He's been here too, but you were asleep. I made him go home and get some rest." He picked up her hand again, and suddenly remembered.

"Got a message for you, from Ecklie." He didn't explain how it had come to him, only watched one slender brow go up. "He said to tell you that the lab needs you."

For some reason, that produced a tear. Horrified, he watched it trail down her cheek. "Oh, hey, Sara, I didn't mean..."

She shook her head slightly, and closed her eyes, fingers tightening on his and then gradually loosening as she slid under again.

He sat and watched the tear evaporate, taking her in. Her hair was tangled and unwashed, her skin was so pale that her freckles looked like spots of brown ink; her cheekbones were sharp and her lips were chapped. Warrick could see, just below the loose neck of the hospital gown, that her collarbones stood out far too starkly under her skin.

_But she's alive. And she's getting better._ He clung to the thought, refusing to wonder what was going to happen next.

**xxxx**

At least he still had his office.

An absurd thought. But there it was, he'd be grateful for such small mercies. He was still, after all, supervisor of the night shift, even if it was reduced.

_At the moment, it's almost nonexistent. _He was still short both Greg and Sara, and out of pity he was keeping Sofia in the lab for the most part; she wasn't really healthy enough to be at work, but he couldn't afford to send her home, even though working would slow her recovery even further. Three dayshift CSIs were handling fieldwork for the moment, and while they were nowhere near the caliber of his own people--_past or present_--they were competent. And right now, he just couldn't bring himself to care.

Grissom sighed, pulling off his glasses and dropping them on his desk. He was two hours early for shift, hidden away in his office with the door closed and the blinds shut, though he wasn't getting much done.

_But then, where else do I have to go? _

He still couldn't take it in, that Sara had forbidden his visiting. But he kept remembering that one moment when she'd pulled her hand from his, and his stomach kept twisting at the memory. _I thought we were still friends, at least a little. Does she really hate me that much? _

It wasn't as though he didn't deserve it. He claimed to be her friend, but her words to Nick in the crushed SUV had pointed out to him how little he'd done to deserve the title. Though to be fair, she hadn't exactly welcomed his more recent efforts.

_Maybe she isn't thinking clearly, like Lindsey said. _ It was possible; she was heavily medicated, after all.

He'd thought he could manage as he had been, that working with Sara would be enough. After all, he hadn't been able to make himself take her up on her offer, and then she'd moved on. He thought.

He winced, remembering. The trooper had pushed her patrol car as fast as was safe on the slick mountain roads, and Grissom had kept his cellphone pressed tightly to his ear, struggling to make out the weak voices over the roar of the engine and the hiss of a bad connection. Desperate fear for his CSIs--Nick was still his, on some level--his people, his friends. Agony that all his shouts into the receiver had gone unheard. Burning urgency that they get there as soon as possible, preferably with Rescue in tow.

His heart had broken at her dull recitation of the last four years. But it had shattered as she cursed him.

When the doctor had emerged to tell them that she was stable, he realized that his mind had changed without him noticing. She loved him--she hadn't moved on--he still had a chance. A small one, but he wasn't going to let it pass.

Except, now it looked as though he was out of chances.

**See Chapter 4**


	4. 4

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: I'm indulging myself, which means that there's more angst to come. If you're worried...well...have I ever written an unhappy ending? Rating may change later. Much gratitude to Cincoflex, who has kept this thing going! **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

In and out. That was all there was. One minute she was awake, and the next she was realizing that another unmeasurable span of time had passed by while she slept. Sometimes she woke sharp, and sometimes waking was hardly more than a dream, but there was always pain underneath.

This time, when she woke, she was alone for once. It was both disappointment and relief. She didn't have to muster a word or a smile for anyone...but there was no one keeping an eye on her.

Somewhere under the fatigue and the pain, she was humbled by her visitors. Nick and Warrick, Catherine and bright-haired Lindsey, Doc and David, they'd all been by. She'd even opened her eyes once to see Brass leaning back in the chair near her bed, snoring faintly, and she would have giggled if she'd had the strength.

No Grissom, though, and it was a stinging, bitter relief. The first thing she'd done on waking and finding him gone was give the attending nurse two names, people she didn't want to see. Doing so had taken most of her voice and all of her energy, and she really didn't think her father was going to show up even if someone figured out how to contact him. But she'd done it, she'd made herself safe, at least for the moment.

Somewhere under the heavy exhaustion, she was saving up anger for when she had the strength to experience it. _How dare he..._ drifted by on occasion. _How dare he show up here and act like he cares. _

She closed her mind off from the wonderful sense of safety she'd felt on opening her eyes and seeing Grissom there. It had become anger almost instantly, anyway. She didn't care if he was her supervisor, or the emergency contact she'd never changed because she had no one to take his place even when they weren't friends any more. He'd forfeited every right to be there.

Sara shifted a little, aching and still exhausted but tired of the position she was in. The IV in her arm and the broken ribs rather limited her choices, and sometimes the constant low bustle of the ICU made it hard for her to fall back asleep, drugs notwithstanding. The curtains of her pod were half-open, which gave her something to watch, but she was bored with the intermittent stream of medical personnel and the occasional wheelchair.

The curtain rattled slightly, and a familiar head and shoulder appeared around the edge. "Sara?" Catherine asked softly.

Sara felt a smile stretching her face, and she let it, despite the tug at the cut near her jaw hinge. Catherine might be a difficult coworker, but she was a terrific visitor, quiet and funny; she watched for signs of fatigue but didn't make it obvious, and was full of good stories and gossip.

"C'mon in," Sara said, or tried to, but the words caught in her dry throat again. Irritated, she reached carefully for the cup on the bedside table, her movements slow but not too uncomfortable as long as she was cautious.

Catherine, smart woman, didn't offer to help, instead sliding into the visitor's chair. "You're feeling better."

Sara took a long sip of the water and put the cup back, nodding. "Getting there. How's Nick?"

Catherine crossed her legs and smiled wickedly. "He's insisting on going back to work tomorrow, and I'm going to let him. I figure he'll last about half the shift, and I'll spend less effort sending him home then than trying to talk him out of it in the first place."

Sara suppressed the chuckle--she wasn't up to laughing yet--but let out a grin. Catherine made a canny supervisor. "How much can he do with one arm, anyway?"

"It's his left arm. I can always give him more paperwork." She cocked her head and regarded Sara. "You're in almost the same boat, but I suppose your arm will heal faster than your ribs."

Sara shrugged, carefully. A sharp shard of rock had somehow embedded itself in the back of her right arm during the mudslide, missing anything major but requiring a number of stitches, internal and external, to close. Already a physical therapist was stopping by every day to help her stretch her arm gently. "I'm not ready to go back to work just yet, anyway."

Catherine patted her leg. "You take it easy for a while. You deserve it."

_With a hole in my side, I'll have to,_ she didn't say. The surgeon kept telling her cheerfully that she'd been lucky, a slow bleed easily repaired, but it didn't feel like it from where she lay.

Catherine stuck to funny little stories about the lab, doing her best to make Sara smile, and Sara was willing to smile. The new dayshift diener who had a desperate crush on Warrick, and Warrick's slightly bewildered attempts to evade the man; David being caught smooching his fiancée on his lunch break; Mia's encounter with a garter snake that had apparently come in hidden in some evidence and had found the lab to be an acceptable new environment.

"She's so calm and controlled, and there she was, standing on her lab stool with her eyes so big I thought they'd pop out," Catherine chuckled, and Sara did grin a little at the image. "Turns out Bobby has pet snakes, so he collected that one for her. But she'll take forever to live it down."

There were two people Catherine wasn't mentioning, Sara noticed--three--but then the number dropped to one as the older woman went on. "Grissom says Greg'll be back in next week. Has Greggo called you yet?"

_Props to her for being casual. _"At least twice. I did answer the phone once when I wasn't really awake, and I'm still not sure who I was talking to." She reached for the water again. "Is he okay?"

"Getting better," Catherine said. "The flu hit him really hard. I"ll admit, I don't see as much of him as I used to, but I miss the kid. It's too quiet without him."

"He's hardly a kid," Sara objected mildly.

Catherine wrinkled her nose. "You all are, to me," she said, joking, and then her smile softened. "It's too quiet without you too, Sara. You need to get well and get back."

She was getting used to it, the sudden drowning exhaustion as her tiny energy stores ran out. Sara smiled and closed her eyes, barely feeling Catherine's pat on her fingers, and scarcely articulating the thought before she was out again. _Maybe I don't want to go back. _

**xxxx**

"I thought I'd find you here."

Grissom looked up and pulled off his glasses as Catherine dropped into the chair in front of his desk. "You do realize that your shift was over three hours ago?" she prodded.

He shrugged, giving nothing away. "So?"

Catherine rolled her eyes. Grissom was glad to see it; he hadn't liked the person she'd become for a little while, brittle and bitter and certain that everyone was against her, even him. The swing supervisor position might not have been the one she wanted, but it seemed to have eased her, and it was a relief to have his friend back--even if she was going to needle him. "Gil, you can't live at the lab."

"Says who?" He was joking, but Catherine merely looked impatient.

"Look, Sara's still pretty fragile right now. But she'll have to come back sooner or later. And acting like a hermit and wearing yourself out won't make that any easier."

It was something he was hungry for, and dreaded, at the same time. Sara back in his orbit, where she couldn't forbid him her presence; back where maybe, perhaps, he could do something to put them on a better footing.

Maybe. Perhaps.

"I appreciate your concern," he said dryly.

Catherine eyed him impatiently. "Gil, you two--"

"Would you be willing to have Sara on the swing shift?" he interrupted.

"What?" Catherine sat up straight. "Do you really think Ecklie would--you'd be one short--"

"Ecklie would have to acquiesce if Sara made the request," Grissom countered. "And I'd trade you for either Warrick or Nick. I wouldn't like to break them up, but if Sara would be more comfortable on swing..."

"Oh no you don't." Catherine's glare might not have an effect on him, but it was still impressive. "You are not shoving this mess onto my plate. You and Sara have the problem, Gil, you and Sara fix it. You're not running away from it this time." She pushed to her feet. "And don't put the idea in her head."

With that she was gone. Grissom snorted softly to himself. It wasn't something he wanted, Sara moving to another shift, but it was something that might well happen, and he figured she'd be more comfortable on swing than day. And Catherine wouldn't have a choice if Ecklie ordered it.

Grissom had no illusions about that. If Sara wanted to change shifts, Ecklie would do it to keep her; if Ecklie knew it would hurt Grissom to lose Sara, he would do it gleefully. Grissom wondered if Sara knew how much power she could wield if she chose.

_Well, it's all moot until she gets back anyway. _

He pulled another report towards him, not willing to go home despite Catherine's admonition. As ever, the terrifying events of the accident rose up in the back of his mind, though he tried to ignore them; voices and moments replaying at the edge of his consciousness like a TV on low.

_He's probably relieved. _

_I should never have come. _

The crash and roar of the falling SUV, and his horror as he realized what had happened.

_I'm **cold**, Nick. _

Abruptly he grunted, and tossed the report down, pinching the bridge of his nose. The thought was sudden. _I wonder if Nick told her that I heard them? _

_...Probably not. _

The younger man's own sense of compassion would most likely have barred him from mentioning it. There was another memory--Nick barely conscious, bruises lurid in the lights from the chopper, frantic about his friend.

_I could ask him, I suppose. _

But Grissom knew he never would.

**xxxx**

He was there every day, and she blessed him for it. Nick might not stay for long, but he came each day, taking a cab in because he couldn't drive yet and padding quietly into her room to give her his beaming smile.

Sara was just able to sit up in a chair, and was ruefully aware of the fact that such a small thing hadn't seemed like a victory since she was an infant, when he appeared bearing a small bag. "Hey! You're outta bed!"

She grinned at him, pleased. "Observant, Nicky."

He leaned down to kiss the crown of her head, dropping the bag into her lap. "Here."

"Not another one! I thought I told you to quit with these things." But Sara opened the bag as she spoke, upending it in her lap. Nick sat on the edge of her bed, and chuckled as a tiny stuffed dog fell out.

"C'mon, I'm on a roll here." He waved at the table beside the bed, which held an array of small canines.

"And I'm out of room." She smiled down at the toy nonetheless.

"So? I'll carry them all out for you when you go home. Or you can leave 'em for the next patient."

Sara snorted carefully and handed him the dog so he could place it on the table. "How's the shoulder?"

Nick moved the joint in question, equally carefully. "The doc says I don't need surgery."

Her smile was warm. "That's great."

"Tell me about it." He gave an exaggerated sigh of relief. "How about you? When are you getting out of here?"

"They're moving me down to the general recovery ward tomorrow." Sara rolled her eyes. "I should have been down there today, but they claimed I was running a fever last night."

Nick sobered. "You were?"

"_If_ I was, it was about half a degree." She patted his knee. "They're paranoid, Nick. I'm fine."

"You sure?" He frowned at her. "Infection's nothing to sneeze at, Sar."

"Read my lips: I'm fine." Sara rubbed her abdomen gingerly. "As long as I don't move too fast."

"Well, you take it easy," Nick said sternly. "We--"

Sara cut him off, dreading any hint of sentimentality. "So how's Greg doing?"

Nick's knowing look told her that he saw what she was doing, but he let her get away with it. "He's a lot better--I stopped by to see him before shift yesterday. He's lost some weight, but you know Greggo--nothing keeps him down for long."

She chuckled, glad that she could laugh a little without hurting herself. "That's my boy."

"You know he's going to be here the minute they let him." Nick cocked his head. "Sara..."

His tone of voice warned her, and Sara stiffened. She didn't remember their conversation in the wrecked SUV with any degree of clarity, but she had the feeling she'd said more than she should have. "Yeah?"

"Why won't you let Grissom come visit?"

She glared at him. Not even Catherine had had the chuzpah. "Don't go there, Nick."

"Sara, he's a mess. He's barely speaking to anyone, and Archie says he spends most of his time at the lab."

She looked down at her lap, feeling her fingers tightening on the fabric of her robe. "Not my problem."

"You sure about that?"

When she lifted his head, Nick's gaze was clear and a little stern, but Sara raised her chin and stared right back. "His feeling guilty is not my responsibility--"

"It's not guilt--"

"I don't want to talk about this." Sara closed her eyes, her energy running out like a sponge wrung dry. She heard Nick sigh, and then his big hand covered one of hers, squeezing gently.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "Forget it, Sar. Just take it easy for a while."

The anger sank away into her exhaustion, and she let it go, unwilling to struggle with it just then, unwilling to spoil Nick's visit. She summoned a smile, and opened her eyes. "It's okay," she said. "Don't go yet."

"I won't." Nick's grip was steady, and she let herself depend on it. Just for a little while.

**xxxx**

The reason Mia didn't watch soap operas was because she hated being dropped in the middle of a plotline without knowing what had already happened. She often avoided TV series for the same reason, adamantly refusing to watch a show--no matter how popular it proved--if she hadn't seen it from the start.

The trouble was, she felt like she'd been thrust into the middle of an ongoing story at work, without benefit of so much as a plot synopsis. And nobody but Hodges was willing to talk about what she'd missed, and she wasn't about to ask _him._ Even if he really knew the whole story, which she doubted he did.

It was obvious to anyone with half a brain that there was something going on between Grissom and Sara. Mia might not be a CSI, but she was a very good observer, and she'd seen the looks one would give the other when they thought themselves unobserved.

_Some screw-up there. _That was obvious. Mia straightened from her microscope and made a meticulous note on the report next to her, but the back of her mind was pondering the puzzle of the two of them. She had never given their tension much thought, until the news had hit the lab about the accident, and half the personnel had dropped what they were doing and sped to the hospital. Mia hadn't been one of them--she didn't really know either Nick or Sara all that well, and somebody had to do the work. But it had felt a little isolating, being outside of the web of concern and fear.

Well, it made it easier to observe. Grissom had vanished entirely for three days, and Warrick and Catherine had been scarce. Sofia had turned up, looking like death warmed over, to try to pick up some of the slack.

And then Grissom had turned up again, and scarcely gone _home._ Rumor had it that Sara had thrown him out of her hospital room for some unspecified reason, but having heard the extent of her injuries, Mia doubted she'd been up to throwing anything. However, Grissom looked like a man who'd been kicked in the gut one too many times, when Mia did actually see him emerge from his office. Reports were that Sara was recovering nicely--so why did everyone still look so worried? Even Nick, when he came back to work, had lines in his face that weren't all caused by pain.

She really hated it, but there wasn't much she could do. It wasn't like anybody kept an ongoing log of the lab's relationships...or...did they?

Mia looked up as a form passed by outside her lab's glass wall. "Archie?"

The A/V tech halted, turning an amiable face to her, and when she waved, he pushed the door open. "Something I can do for you?"

Mia turned on her stool to face him. "Who's the biggest gossip in the lab?"

Archie raised his brows. "Hearing or speaking?"

"There's a difference?"

The tech shrugged. "Everybody talks to David. Ronnie in QD's the king of information, though, if you want to find something out. David probably knows more, but he won't usually repeat it."

Mia smiled. "Great."

She'd make Questioned Documents one of the stops for her lunch break.

**See Chapter 5**


	5. 5

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: I'm indulging myself, which means that there's more angst to come. If you're worried...well...have I ever written an unhappy ending? Rating may change later. Many, many thanks for all the enthusiastic reviews-trust me, they make a difference! _(tips hat to those who wanted to see more of Mia and Ronnie)_**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Everything still hurt, but she didn't care.

Sara smirked to herself. _Nothing like a little independence. _Not that it was much-she was still too weak to propel the wheelchair far, and it was awkward doing it with her feet. But she was sitting up, and she was mobile. _In fact, if this thing had a headrest, I'd be tempted to sleep in it. _

She felt clean, too, for the first time in days. Sponge baths were tolerable, but being able to sit up meant that she could have her hair properly washed. And she was wearing her own comfortable sweats, courtesy of Warrick and the keys from her locker, rather than a drafty hospital gown.

_Now if I can just talk the next visitor into getting me out of here for a while..._ She'd been moved out of ICU a couple of days before, but her new room was even less interesting, and she could only watch so much Discovery Channel.

As if on cue, someone knocked on the open door. "Come in," she called, rejoicing in the ability to take a semi-deep breath.

What came around the doorframe was an enormous bouquet of flowers, obscuring most of the upper half of its porter, but she'd know those shoes anywhere. "Greggo!"

He peered comically around the edge of the vase, and she grinned at him. "Sara," he said, exhaling, and took two strides forward to put the vase in her lap.

She rocked back a little, almost overwhelmed by the flora. Roses, daisies, baby's breath, and other things she couldn't name burst out of a base of ferns. "Greg, this is gorgeous, thank you." She gave him a winning look. "But can you put it on the table? I can't even lift it."

"Oh-right-sure." Greg lifted the bouquet away, setting it carefully on the narrow wheeled table near her bed, and then turned back. His hands were fisted in his pockets, Sara noticed, and his face was drawn both with recent illness and with tension. He stared down at her, almost upset, seeming poised on the edge of some movement.

"Greg, what's the matter?" She tilted her head to regard him.

His eyes closed tightly, and then he was on his knees next to her chair, face buried in the blanket covering her lap. Taken aback, she laid her hands gently on him, stroking his shoulders and hair, oddly warmed by the gesture. She could feel him shaking a little, though he wasn't crying. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's all right."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and looked up. "No, it's not, Sara!" His face was creased and strained. "You almost died, you _and_ Nick. I-I couldn't even come and see you!"

She ran the palm of her hand over his hair again and smiled a little, trying to ease him. "Trust me, if we were dead, it wouldn't have mattered."

But he only groaned, and laid his cheek against her knee, and she let him.

It was several minutes before Greg raised his head, and Sara could see the beginning of a flush in his still-pale skin. "Hey, as long as you're here..." she said, trying to forestall his embarrassment.

He settled back a little, blinking, willing to go along with her. "Yeah?"

Sara looked around conspiratorially, then mock-whispered. "Get me out of here!"

**xxxx**

Nick wanted to laugh at the sight, and he did, enjoying it thoroughly. Laughter had been in short supply recently. But the vision of Greg braced on the back of Sara's wheelchair as they whizzed down the paths of the hospital's garden at an insane speed made him wish for a camera. Or at least for Warrick, so that he might stick his unwounded elbow in his friend's side and make him look.

The two erstwhile patients looked much better-color in their cheeks and grins on their faces-and as Greg dropped off the back of the wheelchair and dragged it to a halt, Nick could see Sara half bent over, pleading with Greg to not make her laugh. Greg was panting, his stamina still not up to par after his bout with the flu, but his face was lit.

Nick made his way over to his friends, slapping hands with Greg and reaching out to tousle Sara's hair. She slapped at his hand, wincing a little but defiant. "Hey, leave the hair alone! It's _clean._"

"Oooh," Nick drawled exaggeratedly. "Special!"

"Bite me, Stokes." But her grin was without malice.

Greg regarded him curiously. "What've you got in the pack, man?"

Nick swung his backpack off his good shoulder and set it on a nearby bench. "I am a magician, my friends. I bring you..." He unzipped it with a flourish and pulled out a white paper bag. "Real food!"

He watched their faces go from inquiry to delight at the steamy odor of Thai take-out, and gloated.

They made a picnic of it, passing the containers from hand to hand and ignoring the possibility of germs. Nick was pleased to see Sara eating a respectable amount for an invalid-still not enough, in his opinion, but at least she had an appetite.

It was when Sara yawned for the second time that Nick assumed authority and decreed that the visit was over. Greg whined a little, but mostly for show; he too could see the weariness in Sara's posture.

They escorted her back inside, and were each pulled down for a kiss on the cheek, and Nick took a cab back home, satisfied.

_She's getting better._

**xxxx**

She wasn't expecting him, and that made it worse, because for a treacherous moment her heart leapt when she scooted herself into her room and saw Grissom sitting in the chair next to her bed. In that instant, she realized she'd made two mistakes-she'd forgotten that visitors were not screened in the Recovery wing, and she'd sent Greg and Nick away in the corridor.

He looked asleep, slumped a little and eyes closed behind his glasses, and at the same time wearier than she had seen him in a long time. He'd lost weight, and lines bracketed his mouth; she could even see a small tear starting in the knee of his jeans, an abnormality on the normally tidy Grissom.

Sara started to back up, hoping to reach the corridor undetected, but Grissom's eyes opened before she got to the door, and he saw her. He straightened, eyes widening. "Sara."

She bit her lip, briefly considering the retreat, but decided it would look too much like cowardice. Instead, she walked her chair slowly forward, ignoring the fatigue that had brought their little garden party to an end. "What are you doing here, Grissom?" she asked coldly.

It didn't seem to fluster him. "I came to see you."

His eyes were fixed on her, but instead of meeting them she maneuvered her chair around to the far side of her bed. "You're...not welcome here."

He flinched, she saw it out of the corner of her eye, but he didn't move. She reached for the call button and pressed it. When she said nothing more, he shifted, and spoke.

"Don't I even get an explanation?"

If there was any anger in him, Sara couldn't hear it. He only sounded sad, and tired.

"If the last year isn't enough of an explanation, you'll never get it," she said shortly, struggling furiously with a swell of sympathy for him, the old familiar tenderness that she just couldn't quite kill.

Grissom sighed. "Sara...I need to talk to you."

"Oh." She pursed her lips in mock thought, then turned the chair slowly to face him. "Isn't that a change."

She wanted to make him angry, she realized. If he started yelling, she could feel completely justified in her own rage, and she could shove him away with a clear conscience. Maybe his anger would break his hold on her, reduce him to something petty-

But he wasn't angry. He was only watching her, and the quick glimpse she had of his eyes before she looked away made her throat ache. _No._

"I've spent years trying to talk to you, Grissom," she told him, keeping her voice low. "You didn't want to. You think after all this time of, of _avoiding_ me I'm just going to listen to you now?"

"I've been trying to listen recently, Sara," he countered coolly. "But you didn't seem to have anything to say."

It was true, she had to admit that to herself if not to him; he'd been more receptive since her embarrassing coda to the Linley Parker case. But she'd run out of things to say to him, besides telling him off, and as satisfying as that would be, it wasn't a particularly good idea while he was her boss.

"You're right," she said abruptly. "I don't. I'm not playing your games anymore. I appreciate your saving my life, I really do, but I'm _done._ I don't want your pity."

He flinched again. "Sara-"

The orderly came in. "Hey, Miss Sidle, what do you need?"

Sara shifted her gaze to the tall man. "Dr. Grissom is leaving. Could you see him out?"

The orderly looked from one to the other, his brows going up at the thick tension in the room. "Sure thing," he said, his voice more formal. "Doctor?"

Sara didn't look across the bed, fixing her gaze instead on the wall between the two men. Nevertheless, her peripheral vision saw Grissom hesitate before standing up and crossing her blank stare. He paused as he reached the orderly.

"If you change your mind, you can call me," he said, and the very neutrality of his tone made her twitch with pain. But she didn't move, and the next moment he was gone, the orderly following behind.

She didn't think he'd be back.

Sara got carefully out of the wheelchair, desperately tired, and lowered herself to the mattress of her bed. She scraped off her slippers and lay down, curling up under the blanket as tightly as she could manage with her injuries, and clutched her fury to her.

But no matter how it burned, she couldn't seem to get warm.

**xxxx**

_Well. I have the answer to my question. _Grissom found himself sitting in his car, staring through the windshield, hands locked on the steering wheel. _She definitely doesn't want to see me. _

And he'd thought it hurt _before._ He flexed his fingers, watching them go up and down but not really seeing them. _What am I going to do now? _

He'd wanted to explain at least a little, to see if she really was through with him. He hadn't quite believed that she was, even after being barred from the ICU.

He did now.

True, she would have to come back to the lab sooner or later. But he had no illusions about how that would work-it was going to be a strain at the very least. He'd had a taste of her icy professionalism before, and he wasn't looking forward to more of it, but that was the smallest issue.

No one gets through life without ruining some things, and he'd done his fair share of it, ranging from stained shirts and burnt meals to experiments and the occasional piece of evidence, much as he hated to admit it. Relationships too-he'd ruined the last couple before they'd even got off the ground.

And not since he was seven years old, standing next to the shards of his mother's crystal vase, had he denied responsibility for his actions.

Not when he was aware of them, anyway. Grissom acknowledged ruefully that there were plenty of times when his abstraction had let him overlook consequences.

_Not this time, though._

**xxxx**

"You have to be kidding." Mia shifted on the lab stool and stared at Ronnie, who shrugged.

"Ask anybody. It was obvious from the start that they had a thing for each other."

"And that's why Dr. Grissom brought her here?" Mia asked in disbelief. The idea seemed ridiculous applied to the supervisor, whose moral code was so integral to him that the very idea of doubting it was laughable.

"No, no." Ronnie sipped from the can he held. "He really did need an outside investigator."

"She is one of the best," Mia acknowledged. She'd worked in other labs, and interacted with any number of CSIs, and the Las Vegas lab's investigators were better than most by a long stretch.

The QD tech stretched a little, eyes half-closing. "They used to flirt with each other all the time, in this really subtle way, but it never seemed to go anywhere, and then Sara started dating somebody else, and their relationship went south after that." He chuckled, sardonic. "It's kind of funny-Sidle could have practically any male in this lab if she wanted, and that includes some of the married ones. But instead the two of them just dance around each other."

A little needled at his amusement, she folded his arms. "Including you?"

Ronnie shook his head. "No way. You know what the CSIs get into-bad enough when they bring back just samples." He set his can aside. "I'm the neat-freak type."

His sleepy gaze ran over Mia in a quick pass, tinged with appreciation-enough to let her notice, but subtle enough to let her ignore it if she wished.

Mia considered the other tech for a moment. It had taken her several shifts to find a time when they both had free breaks, but as Archie had promised, Ronnie was a font of information. And in his favor, the gossip he repeated was without malice, for the most part.

He was smart, deliberate, and told a good story; and he was clean, not only in his lab but on his person. She'd walked close enough past him to catch his scent, which bore only soap and shampoo-no heavy scent of cologne or aftershave.

"Want to get a beer after shift?" she asked abruptly, testing a little. She didn't do mixed drinks, but beer at least came in sealed bottles.

His smile was slow. "Cool."

**xxxx**

Greg knew something was wrong. He'd left Sara looking better, still smiling from all their fun, and with her kiss tingling on his cheek as he walked out of the hospital. Now, two days later, he was back, having insisted on the privilege of driving her home. And he found her closed and severe, all the fragile sparkle gone.

Contrary to popular opinion, Greg did have some sense of self-preservation. So he didn't ask; he just shouldered her bag and pushed the wheelchair when the Recovery nurse insisted that Sara not use her own legs to leave. Nor did he offer to help her into his little compact when they reached it, though he did fasten her seatbelt for her; between her sore arm and her half-knitted ribs, she couldn't quite manage the stretch.

Sara didn't break the silence until he made a turn that took them away from her neighborhood, and out of the corner of his eye he saw her head turn to regard him. "Where are we going?"

"Catherine's," he said coolly. "With a stop on the way."

"Greg..." Her voice was both annoyed and tired, and he shot her a glance, his own conviction keeping him from reacting.

"Don't bother fighting, Sara. You're not well enough to be on your own."

She didn't, and it worried him a little; the Sara he knew would have made at least a token protest. But when he snuck another glance, she was leaning back against the headrest, eyes closed, and he kept his mouth shut until they reached El Rosale's parking lot. He pulled up near the door and dialed a number on his cellphone; a few minutes later, a waiter came out with a large bag and handed it through the driver's side window, gravely accepting a five-dollar bill as a tip. Sara opened her eyes as Greg unrolled the bag's top. "What's that?"

"Lunch," he said succinctly, and pulled out a styrofoam container to pass to her. Napkins and plasticware followed, and Sara opened the container to reveal burritos, fixings, and salad.

"It's vegetarian," Greg said, opening his own container. His own quesadillas had chicken, but not visibly.

"Yeah." Sara was still staring at the food on her lap. "Greg..."

"I thought I told you not to argue." He gave her his best beseeching look, desperately afraid that she would. He didn't know how to argue with a sick Sara, how to win without making her wear herself out.

"I'm not." She gave him a small, vulnerable smile, and his heart melted. "Thanks, Greg. This looks great."

He grinned as best he could around a mouthful. "So eat!"

She was asleep by the time they reached Catherine's house, and she'd only eaten half the food, but Greg figured he'd settle for what he could get. She woke only enough to get into the house and into Catherine's guest bedroom, but the older woman smiled reassuringly at Greg as he stared worriedly at the closed door. "She's okay, Greg. This is normal for someone just coming out of the hospital."

"But we only drove," he protested, and Catherine patted his arm.

"Sara just doesn't have any energy stores left. It doesn't help that she ran herself down beforehand, either," she added dryly. "She'll be fine with some rest."

Greg let out a breath. "If you say so," he said doubtfully.

Catherine chuckled. "Trust me. Now go home, Greg. She'll sleep for hours, and you need to do the same."

Well, he couldn't argue _that._ It was very annoying, the way he got tired so quickly. Sleep sounded good.

It wasn't until he was lying in bed, staring at the far wall, that he really let himself think about her.

Beautiful, brilliant, unattainable Sara. He'd had a crush on her for what felt like forever. It wasn't that he hadn't dated other women since they'd met; she'd made it very clear that they weren't going to get together, and he'd accepted that, enjoying the flirtation and the camaraderie and the sight of her ass when she wasn't looking.

It was equally obvious that she was hooked on Grissom. Greg didn't know what _his_ problem was; it seemed to Greg that anyone pursued by the delectable Sidle would spend, oh, about five seconds protesting. If that. But he'd stopped trying to figure Grissom out long ago.

He still had a crush on Sara, kind of. He still had wistful half-awake moments when he dreamed of her in his arms, giving in to his kiss, or striding into the lab that wasn't his anymore and pinning him against a counter to put him in a liplock, but when his mind was clearer he had to admit that neither scenario fit Sara. His dream girl wore her face, but only as a mask.

No, mostly they were friends now. Being her student, as it were, had done a lot to knock the mushy notions out of his head; it was hard to hold onto romantic ideals when his mentor was scolding him irritably for forgetting gloves _again_ or they were both up to their sweaty elbows in something really stinky.

And it had terrified him to see his friend so reduced. The invincible Sara, made pale and quiet and way too thin by a freak accident. He'd almost been grateful, the first time he visited, that his illness had kept him away before and he'd been spared the sight of her battered and unconscious.

Almost.

Greg liked to joke about his grandfather's ejection from Norway in the last century-heck, Grandpa thought it was a major joke himself-but the old family story had one thing at the heart of it.

Responsibility.

A Hojem takes his responsibilities seriously, that had been the unconscious refrain when he was growing up. And one of the responsibilities of friendship is being there when your friend needs you.

Well, he was going to be there. Whether she liked it or not.

**See Chapter 6**


	6. 6

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

"Here, Linds, I'll give you a hand." The tall woman smiled as she rose carefully from the table, and Lindsey felt her rebellion ease a little as they both started clearing the dinner dishes. It wasn't like it was a big deal to do it, but sometimes she just felt so impatient-she had other stuff to do, like homework, and surfing the 'Net.

But it was harder to argue with a guest in the house. Catherine had asked if it would be okay if Sara came to stay for a couple of days, in the tone of voice that meant that it would probably happen even if Lindsey said no, but she really didn't mind. It was kind of interesting having somebody around who'd just been in the hospital, and it also meant that Mom wouldn't be so hyper about Lindsey being home alone, because she wouldn't be.

The two adults had one of those complicated sets of glances, which ended up with Catherine shrugging and leaving the kitchen, and for a little while Lindsey and Sara moved dishes without speaking. Lindsey took the task of loading the dishwasher; she'd seen Sara wince when she bent over to do something before.

"So, looking forward to getting your bathroom back" Sara asked abruptly, her tone cheerful.

Lindsey shrugged, dumping a handful of silverware into the basket. "Sure." Sara-who'd rolled her eyes when Catherine said to call her "Ms. Sidle"-didn't take long in there, but that seemed to be the response she expected. Lindsey pulled some hair out of her face and looked up. "Are you going home"

"If I can talk your mom into letting me out of the house, yeah, tomorrow" Sara answered, looking a little impatient. "No offense, but I kinda want my own bed."

"I know what you mean" Lindsey said. After her parents had split up, she'd loved visiting her dad, but she had always had to sleep on the couch because he didn't have a spare room. It had been a lumpy couch.

She took a long look at Sara as the grown-up wrapped up the casserole. Sara still had big hollows under her eyes, and her wrists were really bony. "Will you be okay there? You still look kind of sick."

Sara chuckled a little, bracing her ribs with one hand. "Thanks for the honesty, kid. Yeah, I'll be okay. I'll probably do exactly what I do here, which is sleep, mostly."

Mom had been really pleased about that. But Catherine hadn't been home when Sara kept coming out of her room with a white face, and then wandering around drinking tea for a couple of hours like she didn't want to go back to bed. Once Lindsey thought she had heard Sara _scream_, but she'd had her earbuds in and her music on, and when she pulled them out and went to check, Sara was already in the bathroom with the door closed.

Lindsey raised her eyebrows the way she'd seen Uncle Gil do. "Well, okay."

Sara grinned again, and Lindsey wondered a little why she hadn't had braces when she was a kid. "You sound just like your mom."

Well, eww. Lindsey huffed. "Oh, great."

She expected Sara to lecture on why she should be grateful for a mom who worked hard to take care of her-that was what Grandma did every time she complained about anything. But Sara looked at her hard for a minute instead.

"Your mom's a tough lady" she said at last. "I admire a lot of things about her. But I wouldn't want to be like her."

Lindsey blinked, a little taken aback. Everyone kept going on about how Catherine had achieved so much with her life, about how she hadn't let anything stop her. Nobody had ever said _that._

"So, wash or dry" Sara asked briskly, bracing one hand on the sink. Lindsey shook herself and regarded the grown-up critically.

"You're not well enough to scrub" she said, and handed Sara the dishtowel. And grinned as Sara laughed.

**xxxx**

Sara walked into the locker room, slightly stunned. It was one thing to get cards and flowers in the hospital from the people she worked with; it was quite another to get wide smiles and careful hugs on her first shift back, ranging from the receptionist's shrill surprise to Warrick's kiss on the forehead as he passed her on his way out. Even the imperturbable Ronnie had given her a careful pat on the shoulder and a "Good to have you back."

_Next thing you know they'll be throwing me a welcome-back party. Geez, I hope not. _Sara dropped her bag on the bench and opened her locker to restock it with fresh clothes, then shrugged and just hung the bag on the hook. She wasn't late, but she was only a little early, and she had no intention of being late for assignments.

_Of course, Grissom'll probably make me stay in the lab. _She ignored the common-sense voice that told her it might be a good idea if she did. She could take a deep breath now, and the cuts on her arm and abdomen no longer pulled, but her ribs were not completely knitted and she had to be careful how she bent over. And her energy levels weren't entirely up to par.

_Not for lack of trying on some people's parts. _Sara pulled on her vest and made sure her badge was facing out properly. If it hadn't been Nick with spaghetti, it had been Catherine with an invitation to dinner, or Warrick with stir-fry, or Greg showing up with a pizza and a grin. Their caring had touched her deeply, and she suspected that between the food and her curtailed exercise, she was close to the weight she'd been before her accident.

Slamming the locker door shut, she rose and made her way to the breakroom. Sofia was already there; the other woman looked up as Sara entered, and gave her a small but genuine smile. "Hey, Sara. Glad you're back."

Sara nodded politely. "Thanks for the card." The cascade of cards had included an impersonal one from Sofia, and Sara had been a little surprised; they barely knew each other.

Sofia folded her arms on the table. "The boys have been moping around without you. It'll be nice to be up to full strength again."

Sara bristled silently. It was one thing to refer to Greg as a boy, but it didn't apply at all to Grissom and seemed disrespectful to boot. But before she could think of a suitable reply, both Grissom and Greg came in.

The younger man gave her a wink as he slid into a chair; he'd been over at her place just that morning. Grissom, on the other hand, was as impassive as any other day, merely standing at the head of the table and looking them over. If his gaze lingered a little longer on Sara, she refused to notice.

"Good evening, people. Sofia, you have a shooting at a Henderson restaurant. Make sure the police escort stays with you, please, the suspect hasn't been apprehended. Greg, Sara, a double homicide behind the Lucky Stars Casino. The same goes for you two." He shuffled the slips in his hand. "I'll be working a mysterious death at a post office on Fern Street if you need me."

He looked up and around, gaze cool and detached. "Greg, remember what we discussed earlier. Sara-" He waited until she looked at him. "Please, take whatever breaks you need. We need you healthy."

Sara bit back both her surprise at an active assignment, and a retort. She didn't want to talk to Grissom, period, let alone get into an argument with him. Apparently taking her silence as consent, Grissom nodded, and without another word turned and left.

Glancing at the other two, Sofia rose and went out as well. Greg hissed under his breath, but Sara shook her head. "Leave it," she told him softly. "It's just Grissom."

"But-"

"_Leave _it."

Greg subsided, still looking rebellious. Sara smiled at him. "I have to grab a few things for my kit. Meet you outside?"

"You mean I can drive?" he asked, eyes suddenly gleaming, and she had to laugh.

"Sure. You're a big boy now."

His mock-angry glare only made her laugh again, and he bounced to his feet and went out. Sara followed more slowly, the memory of pain making her cautious.

She found the supplies she needed in the storage closet-phenolphthalein, gloves, duct tape-and headed for the front lot, knowing that Greg would pull the SUV around to the door for her. She raised her chin as she passed Grissom's office, determined to ignore both him and his territory, but he startled her by leaning out of the doorway just as she passed. "Hey, Sara..."

Reluctant, she turned. His expression hinted at warmth, but his eyes were wistful. "I missed you."

They stared at each other for a beat, and then-before she could think of a reply-he vanished back into his office.

Sara considered, briefly, marching in there and demanding that he explain that comment, and then decided against it. _No. He's only playing around again. All he'd say is that he missed having a full team. And I'll look like an idiot again. _

Turning on her heel, she headed for the front door, all the pleasure of her return gone.

**xxxx**

_It didn't work. _That was the refrain in Grissom's head five nights later as he let himself into his townhouse. _It didn't work._

He'd tried. All week, he'd tried. He'd been friendly, he'd been considerate, he'd done his best to look after Sara without making her feel like an invalid. The first night, he'd sent her home two-thirds of the way through her shift, after Greg's clandestine report that she was worn out; even if he hadn't instructed the younger man to keep an eye on Sara, one glimpse of her white, strained face would have told him plenty.

She hadn't argued. She'd given him a cool look, and said "Okay, boss," and gone. And it left his stomach knotted. The Sara he knew would have protested, would have argued.

_The Sara you knew was your friend, at least in some way. She felt free to argue with you. _

She was treating him like her supervisor, nothing more. Nothing at all. Nothing he said sparked a personal response from her; nothing he did earned him even a polite smile.

It hurt like fury.

Grissom dropped his keys on his counter and sighed, feeling miserable. It wasn't working, none of it was, and his team-such as it was-was feeling the strain. Greg alternated between trying to look after Sara-not that she let him much-and giving Grissom apologetic looks; Sofia, who no doubt had been long since filled in on gossip by someone, seemed to be watching with a mixture of amusement and puzzlement.

They weren't pulling together. They could work well in pairs, but not in any other combination besides solo, and Grissom knew it would soon affect their efficiency. He had to have a team that could work in any permutation, that could set aside differences to gather evidence.

Of course, he was no better himself. The truth was, working with Sara had become painful. He kept hoping she'd relent and allow at least an approximation of their old working relationship, but nothing was changing.

_And there are few things more stubborn than Sara when she's made up her mind._

She might still love him, it was a possibility. But it seemed that the gods were up to their old trick of giving with one hand and taking away with the other. Because even love has its limits.

Grissom sat slowly down on his couch, working off his shoes and feeling old. _It's time. Time to look at alternatives. _The choices he didn't want to offer. The deliberate opening of doors he wanted to lock and plaster over.

_It's time to admit defeat._

Oh, he hurt.

**xxxx**

It was fascinating, really, how he scarcely had to leave the morgue, and yet data and rumor flowed to him. Most of it came through David, of course, who was a fount of gossip despite-or perhaps because of-his shy demeanor; conversations with the dayshift coroner and the dieners supplemented David's quiet reports.

The only thing that redeemed his own self, Robbins thought dryly, was that he didn't pass most of it on.

He sat in front of his computer, working on yet another report. Grissom liked to complain about his paperwork, and to be sure he had plenty of it, but Robbins suspected that the CSI had no real grasp of just how much bureaucracy attended the handling and disposal of human remains. Robbins didn't like doing paperwork any more than anyone else, and David, bless him, did a decent share of it, but some things simply required the M.E.'s attention.

Rumor was rampant these days. The accident six weeks ago had upset the lab deeply; both the wounded CSIs were liked and respected, and the early uncertainty about Sara's survival had been an added stress on a lab already unsettled by personnel changes. Robbins' mouth turned down in a frown of distaste. He was very grateful that he himself reported only to the Sheriff, and then only in a limited fashion; Ecklie was a smarmy, vindictive bastard and Robbins was well glad to be clear of him. _Yet another reason to work the night shift. _

Rumor, these days, spoke of Catherine's struggle to settle into her supervisor's post, and the crush on Mia that Hodges thought he was keeping a secret, and tension between Sara and Grissom. Nothing new, really. And yet-

Robbins was a doctor, a man of science. But he was also someone who had spent decades observing the human condition, often in the vulnerable and unmasked moments of illness and grief. He understood the value of instinct.

And instinct was telling him that something deeper was going on.

Sara wasn't bouncing back as quickly as he'd like. And Grissom didn't look much better now than he had when both she and Nick had still been in the hospital-he still had a faintly haunted look at the back of his eyes. Robbins didn't like it.

But then, he never had, and had long resisted the temptation to shove both Grissom and Sara into a closet and lock it, or better yet one of his larger body drawers. It might be amusing, at least to observers, but it wouldn't really solve anything.

_Not to mention what they'd do to me when they got out. Never antagonize a man who keeps a venomous spider as a pet. _

Robbins snorted and set the idea aside for the thousandth time. Just as he signed the last form with a flourish, the morgue doors swung open and Grissom himself walked in, pulling on a lab coat.

"Be right with you, Gil," Robbins called, carefully stapling forms together. "I'm thinking about getting a new coffeemaker for in here; any suggestions?"

"No, sorry," Grissom replied, staring absently at the morgue's current coffeemaker, which was idle at the moment. Robbins indulged himself regularly with better coffee than even Greg made, but-he smirked to himself-he didn't have to worry about anyone stealing it, either. Most people didn't want anything to do with a beverage made in a morgue.

Grissom was one of the few exceptions, but it didn't look to Robbins like he was seeking a caffeine infusion at the moment. Robbins slipped his crutch cuff onto his arm and pushed himself to his feet.

"Your DB is, I'm afraid, a simple case of myocardial infarction," he said, limping over to the relevant drawer and pulling it open.

"Really?" Grissom bent over the middle-aged man's corpse, scientific interest dispelling his abstraction. "The guy who hit him was convinced he'd killed him with one punch."

"I'm afraid not." Actually looking at the body was at this point unnecessary, given that the report had been made and the Y-incision closed, but Grissom always seemed to want to see things with his own eyes. "Was he pleased or dismayed?"

"Both." Grissom's lips quirked, but then his momentary humor dissolved into the same faint, lost air he'd been wearing for too long.

Robbins pushed the drawer shut. "Gil, something's bothering you."

Grissom frowned, and Robbins braced himself for an angry retort. But the CSI only raised a brow. "This surprises you?"

Robbins shrugged, hoping to spur Grissom to talk a little, and was rewarded with a dry look. "You missed your calling, Al. You should have been a psychologist."

"Not enough blood and guts," Robbins replied. "What's up?"

Grissom shoved his hands in his pockets, eyes drifting to the tidy label on the drawer. "I'm just thinking about making some changes in my life, that's all."

Robbins opened his mouth to praise the idea, but Grissom spoke again. "Do you ever wonder if you've outlived your usefulness?"

His voice was soft, and for a moment Robbins wasn't sure that he'd been meant to hear the question. But he answered anyway.

"Not yet. My wife has a way of talking me out of self-pity."

"Ah." Grissom tilted his head and looked directly at Robbins. "Thanks, Doc."

He turned and strode out, leaving Robbins staring after him with mingled exasperation and doubt.

**xxxx**

She'd forgotten how pleasant swimming could be.

Sara brushed her fingers against the cool concrete of the pool side, and without pausing, somersaulted and twisted so that she was facing back the way she'd come. It was a smooth move, long practiced, and she was on her way back down the length of the pool without missing a beat.

Of course, her pace was slower than it had been. Her ribs still ached, and she couldn't breathe as deeply or as fast as she'd like; her right arm still hurt a little on the overarm strokes. But this was less jarring than running, and she was getting exercise.

And it was good for thinking. Sara swept slowly down the lane and back again, not having to watch for stray dogs or other pedestrians as she might while jogging. There wasn't even anyone else in her lane. Her movements were automatic, almost unconscious, and her body arrowed through the water while her mind turned over ideas, options, facts like prickly blossoms or smooth stones.

One of the facts was that she wasn't comfortable any more at work. Another was that between she and Grissom, no one else was either.

She hated to see Greg so torn, between the mentor he was a little in awe of and his teacher. Sofia she didn't like, but the woman really hadn't done anything wrong. She had as much right to a decent working environment as anyone else.

And Grissom clearly wasn't happy with Sara around. He'd stopped trying to be protective, for which Sara was grateful, and had retreated into being distant again, which was something of a relief even as it made her ache.

_It's a good thing,_ she reminded herself as she made yet another turn, trying to ignore the persistent small wondering if his showing up at the hospital meant he did care. _This is the way it should have been from the beginning. _

All his friendship had ever brought her was pain in the end, anyway. Sure, it had got her a teacher, and a job, but she could have achieved just as much if she'd stayed in San Francisco, and without the heartache.

_Maybe I wouldn't have learned quite so much. And yeah, I'd have missed out on some good friends. _Nick's image, Greg's, Warrick's, rose before her mind's eye, along with other faces from the crime lab and the police department. _But it's not like I didn't have friends at home._

_Maybe it's time to go home. _

What was she going to do here, anyway? Do her best to avoid her boss? Watch him flirt with another woman? Depend on Conrad Ecklie for a promotion that might never be offered in the first place?

Watch the nascent night shift team fall apart because two of its members could barely speak to each other?

_I'm the one who screwed this up. _Sara slowed to a stop at the shallow end, letting her feet drift down to the bottom and standing upright to pant. She pushed the wet hair out of her eyes. _Okay, he flirted with me, but I'm the one who took it beyond that. I asked him out. _

They'd both ruined their friendship. And Grissom hadn't been exactly stellar throughout. _But maybe I expected too much. _

His words drifted through her memory. _"Someone young and beautiful comes along, someone we could really care about..." _

Could. Nothing definite. Too much of a risk, probably.

Sara sighed, and headed for the ladder.

In the locker room, as she pulled off her swimsuit, she stared at herself in the mirror. She'd always been thin, but she had to admit that she was a little on the low side since the accident. The bruising at her ribcage was gone, but there were fading red lines at her side and on the skin near her ear. She turned to see the scar on the back of her arm. _If this isn't a wake-up call, I don't know what is._

**xxxx**

"So, what's on your mind?" Greg asked casually, keeping his eyes on the road. Their crime scene was a good ways out of town, and he had absolutely no desire to get in trouble for so much as scratching the paint job on the SUV.

For a long while, Sara didn't answer, and Greg didn't push. He'd learned a lot, recently, and not just forensics. Sofia was cool to work with-she was a little too superior sometimes, but she didn't laugh at him for asking stupid questions, and she was always willing to answer them. And she had a sense of humor, though it was probably a full one-eighty from that of most of the folks on the night and swing shifts. If you could get used to her habit of talking to herself out loud, it was all good.

Besides, she too had an ass worth admiring.

But he'd still rather work with Sara. She was his official mentor, but it was more than that-she loved to teach, and she seemed to know when he was stuck and when he was just thinking, and they had all kinds of little jokes going.

"I'm trying to make a decision," she said finally, and she sounded...sad.

He let half a mile roll past them. "You're thinking of leaving."

She didn't look surprised, and he took it as a compliment. "Yeah."

"You should."

That did generate a glance, but he didn't turn to look at her. "You're not happy anymore, Sara. I mean, sorry, but it's obvious." He shrugged. "Why should you hang around if you're not happy?"

It hurt to say it. Sara was his friend, and he didn't want her to go. _But hey, e-mail exists for a reason. _

She snorted softly, a faintly amused sound. "Good question."

Another half-mile of highway and darkness and the stationary stars of floodlights. "You're not trying to talk me out of it," she noted.

He shrugged, signaling to go around a slower car. "You have to do what's best for you." Finally, he looked over, seeing her unmistakable profile accented by sliding shadows. "I'll miss you, though. Like crazy."

Her mouth quirked. "I'll miss you too." Her hands linked in her lap before he looked away. "A lot of it was good," she added softly.

Greg nodded, and kept driving.

**xxxx**

"Could I talk to you a minute?"

Sara looked up from the jacket she was examining. Grissom was leaning in through the doorway of the layout room, looking inquiring. She nodded, apprehensive and hoping that whatever he wanted to say was work-related.

Grissom stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. When he didn't say anything, Sara put down the jacket. "What is it?"

He grimaced. "Do you want to move to another shift?" he asked bluntly.

Sara felt her anger stirring again. "You don't want me on your team any more."

"That's not what I said," Grissom replied sharply. "I know you're...not exactly comfortable any more. If you want to move to another shift, I'll make it happen."

_Not exactly comfortable. Yeah, like that even begins to cover it. _Sara regarded him for a moment, simmering, and yet bitterly aware that a large part of her was very sorry that he was offering.

"No," she said at last. "I don't want to move." Which was true on a whole bunch of levels. There was no way she was going to move to days and be around Ecklie on a daily basis; and she couldn't quite see herself working as Catherine's subordinate, though they could probably work out a compromise if they had to.

Besides, discomfort wasn't going to be a problem for very much longer.

Grissom's head dipped, and she couldn't make out whether it was relief or disappointment, or merely acknowledgment. "Okay," he said. "Sara...things will get better."

Her gaze chilled. "Oh. Right."

"They will," he insisted simply, and turned to go.

Sara picked up the jacket again, only to be startled by his voice. "You're a great CSI, Sara," he said quietly from the doorway. "You'd be an asset on anyone's team."

Then he was gone, leaving her staring after him. _Since when has he started handing out random compliments? Is that his way of telling me he wants me to switch, or is he trying to tell me he wants me to stay? Or leave? _

_Well, it doesn't matter, Grissom. You won't have to work around me for long. _

**See Chapter 7**


	7. 7

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: Yet more angst-I did say I was indulging myself. However, take heart. There's a bend in the tunnel, but the light's around here somewhere... And yes, the quote is LM Bujold. (grin)**

**Another note: Thank you so much for all the feedback (esp. Jpsets, who always says such wonderful things)! I love it when you tell me what you think (and occasionally this generates further stories). But thank Cincoflex too, because if not for her, this wouldn't have reached fruition. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sara hesitated outside the Assistant Supervisor's door. She was still so conflicted about this-

_Conflicted, hell. I don't want to leave. But the truth is I need to. _

The tension between herself and Grissom hadn't lessened, and it was bad for the team. And hanging around him was bad for her. _I just can't stop wanting him, no matter how mad I get. What does that say about me? _

Well, if there was one thing she didn't want to be, it was a doormat. She knocked on the door, and opened it at the acknowledgment from within.

"Ah, Sara, have a seat." Ecklie waved her distractedly to a chair, signed the paper in front of him, and looked up, and Sara had the distinct feeling that he'd just gone through a pattern designed to illustrate both how busy he was and how generous he was being with his time. Then he leaned forward and folded his hands on his desk, the picture of supervisory attention. It made Sara's stomach turn. "What can I do for you?"

Eschewing words, she slid the piece of paper across his desk. He picked it up and scanned it quickly, and Sara expected him to ask why she hadn't gone through proper channels and given it to Grissom.

Instead, he frowned, and if she didn't know better she would have sworn there was a hint of panic there. Then he blinked, and smiled, and her hackles went up.

"Sara...please. There's no need for this. I'm sure we can work things out in an acceptable manner."

The anger that was still simmering began to swell. "'Work things out'?" The situation was so far beyond tolerable for her that she couldn't believe he was suggesting a compromise. "That's not possible."

"Of course it is." Ecklie dropped her resignation on his desk and leaned back in his chair, looking conciliatory. "The rules about fraternization aren't hard and fast, they can be worked around if both parties are willing to compromise."

Sara just stared at him, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "Fraternization?"

He sighed theatrically. "You two need to work on your communication skills, Sara. Gil was already in here for just this reason."

Her jaw dropped slightly, but he was continuing, this time with a tinge of hollow embarrassment. "Of course, I thought he was referring to Sofia Curtis, and I called his bluff. But you're a different matter entirely. The lab can't afford to lose you both."

Her ears were ringing faintly with something she recognized as a rage so profound it had only come over her a few times in her life. "Work this out," Ecklie said, pushing the paper back across the desk. "Tell Gil I'll reconsider. This is a little over-dramatic, though, Sara, don't think you can get away with it again."

Her hands were clenched so tightly on the armrests that Sara was vaguely surprised that her fingers hadn't splintered the wood. She opened her mouth, but before she could say any of the incendiary things bouncing around inside her skull, Ecklie's beeper went off.

He glanced at it and rose hastily, still smiling that nasty smile. "Sorry to run off like this, Sara. Let yourself out."

As the door shut behind him, Sara stared at the paper still lying crosswise on his blotter, and seethed. _Grissom threatened to quit so he could be with Sofia? _

All the injustices of the last few years seemed to be balanced right behind her eyes, threatening to tumble over and bury her. With an effort, Sara stepped outside her fury, containing it, and picked up the resignation. _I don't have to take this from Ecklie. _

She'd go over his head.

Replacing the paper in the folder she used to keep it from creasing, she left the office, closing the door carefully behind her. _Let's see how fast I can get an appointment with Atwater. _

A tiny, chilly smile graced her lips as she headed out of the building. If nothing else, the Sheriff wouldn't be pleased to find out that the CSI supervisor had treated her so cavalierly...or that he'd jumped to that particular conclusion.

Luckily for her, Atwater was in. Sara half-expected that she'd have to make an appointment, but the Sheriff's receptionist gave her one glance and made a quiet phone call, and a few minutes later Atwater stuck his head out of his office door. "CSI Sidle? Come on in."

He was rounding his desk when she entered, and he waved her to a chair. "I can give you about five minutes. How are you doing?" And if the look he bent on her was impersonal, it was also kind. Sara handed him her resignation, and sat down.

Atwater's eyes flicked down the paper, and his brows went up. "Well. I'm sorry to see this, CSI Sidle, but why are you giving it to me instead of to Supervisor Ecklie?"

Sara crossed her legs, still furious but riding it instead of letting it ride her. "I did. He dismissed my concerns and misinterpreted my reasons for resigning, and gave it back to me."

Atwater pursed his lips, looking a little grim. "I can understand his unwillingness to lose someone as qualified as yourself, but that seems a little extreme." He read the paper again. "You want to leave immediately?"

Sara nodded. "I realize that this will leave the night shift one CSI short, but-"

Atwater was shaking his head. "Ms. Sidle. It'll leave us two short if we can't talk Dr. Grissom into staying before his notice is up. Look, can I..." He trailed off at the look on her face. "How about this then-stay for two weeks, and if we can't straighten things out for you, I'll make sure you have a generous severance package and a glowing letter of recommendation."

Sara hesitated. She didn't really need the money, and she wanted very badly to be out of the lab orbit, especially with the news Ecklie had dropped on her. But in a sense she did owe two weeks' notice, and she could hardly ask Grissom for a letter of recommendation now.

_I've lived through the past month. How bad can it be for two more weeks? _

She nodded, reluctantly.

Atwater smiled. "Very good. We don't want to lose you, CSI Sidle. You're a large part of the reason for the lab's high solve rate. What-"

His phone rang. With an apologetic look, he answered it; the exchange was brief, but he sighed as he hung up. "I am sorry, I have to go. Look, make an appointment with my secretary on the way out, and we'll talk about what we can do to make the lab a better place for you." He rose, and Sara stood as well. "Maybe tonight? I'll be here late."

Tonight was her night off, and she wasn't about to come in on her night off right now. "What about Supervisor Ecklie?" she asked, keeping her tone sweet.

Atwater frowned again. "I'll have a word with him."

As the Sheriff herded her politely out, Sara wondered cynically if that word would actually involve any censure.

**xxxx**

Grissom walked slowly up and down the aisles of the supermarket, eyes scanning the shelves while his brain worked the problem of Ecklie. The man had made all kinds of vague insinuations when Grissom had handed in his resignation, and then had had the gall to tell Grissom he wouldn't accept it.

Well, it didn't matter whether he accepted it or not. Grissom planned to clean out his office in two weeks no matter what.

He paused and added two jars of jelly to his cart. He wasn't quite sure where he was going to go, though he had no doubt that he could find a job at almost any crime lab big enough to hire an entomologist. _Maybe I ought to take a break for a while. Consult, perhaps. _

The truth was, he didn't want to go. He might have lost half his team, but he did love his job, and it would be bitter to leave it. _But you owe it to Sara, _he told himself sternly. _She can't be comfortable around you, and it's your fault. _

He'd screwed with her life too much already. Best to simply take himself out of it, and let her get on with things.

_Maybe they'll make her supervisor. _

"Hello, Gil."

Grissom's head came up and his eyes narrowed at the familiar, irritating voice. "Conrad," he acknowledged coolly, turning. All his gratitude towards Ecklie for his compassion in the ICU had vanished when the supervisor had treated Grissom's resignation as an annoying folly.

The smile on the man's face was ugly. "I'm surprised. I would have thought you'd have one of your ladies with you." The emphasis he put on "ladies" implied exactly the opposite, and Grissom bristled.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Conrad."

"Of course you do." Ecklie smirked. "You know, you really had me going. I thought you were quitting so you could go after Curtis, when it turns out you've been doing Sidle all along."

Ice filled Grissom's veins. "What did you say?" he asked quietly.

If Ecklie heard the warning in Grissom's tone, he ignored it. "You two sure got your wires crossed. Sidle came to me this morning and tried to resign on the spot. Looks like neither of you figured out that the rules are a joke."

Grissom stood frozen as the horrid realization bloomed in his head, and the rage grew underneath it. "Sara resigned?"

"I turned her down." Ecklie shrugged. "Can't afford to lose her. Seriously, Gil, it's not like the two of you shacking up is going to be that big of a problem, as long as you keep it discreet." His laugh made Grissom's skin crawl. "Of course, it took me a minute to figure out what was going on."

Grissom very rarely resorted to physicality, but he could move quickly enough when provoked. He ignored the cereal boxes falling off the shelves as he pinned Ecklie up against them. _"What did you tell her?"_

The man's eyes were all but popping out. "Nothing!" he managed. "Just that I thought you were talking about Curtis, that's all."

Grissom's mind spat forth a series of words that it generally kept for desperate situations, but he didn't let them pass his lips. He'd rather that Sara had heard he'd quit work to pursue _sheep_ rather than Sofia. _She'd know better than to believe **that**. _

He released Ecklie abruptly, feeling dirtied by contact with the man. Ecklie settled back onto his feet, huffing and straightening his jacket. "Are you insane?" he hissed at Grissom.

A few people further down the aisle were staring at them, but they were of no consequence to Grissom. _She'll believe him. _He wiped his hands down the sides of his pants. _She has no reason not to. _

"You could lose your job for this," Ecklie went on, his face red. "I'll see to it that-"

"I quit, remember?" Grissom snapped, and strode towards the exit, abandoning his cart.

_I have to talk to her. Before it's too late. _

He had his cellphone open before he was out of the supermarket, but all he got was her voice mail, and the last thing he wanted to do was leave a message that might foul things up even further. _It's six-thirty. She'd be up by now. Why isn't she answering? _

The realization was as unpleasant as Ecklie's revelation. _Because it's my number showing up on the ID. _

Grissom closed his phone slowly, trying to figure out what to do. If Sara really had quit point-blank-he didn't think Ecklie's refusal would stop her any more than it was stopping him-there was no telling where she'd be. If she had given notice, she might be getting ready for work right then, or she might be already there. _This is not a conversation I want to have in the lab. _

He stared down at the phone in his hand, and the light dawned with the recollection of her voice. _"A square of nine dots..."_

_Of course. Think outside the box._

Grissom started as a horn beeped behind him, and he realized he was standing still in the middle of the supermarket parking lot. Pocketing his phone, he hurried towards his car. _This is Vegas. All the casinos have pay phones. _

Not only that, but the high-end ones had privacy booths. It took Grissom about forty-five minutes, all told, to get to the Tropicana, park, and find the phones; on some level he was aware of the wildness of this particular goose chase, but he wasn't about to give it up.

And for once it paid off. He slid onto the small bench, punched in the number, and listened to it ring twice before it was answered with a businesslike "Sidle."

He sucked in a breath. "Sara, don't hang up."

For an awful three seconds, he thought she would. Then she spoke again. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

Her voice scared him. It wasn't cold, or angry; it was devoid of emotion, as though she were speaking to a machine.

"Because Ecklie was wrong. He couldn't be more wrong."

"Oh. You're not quitting?"

He heard noises in the background, but couldn't make them out, and he didn't want to ask her where she was; he couldn't risk her hanging up.

"No, I am. But not because of Sofia." He bit his lip, struggling for words; they seemed to come a little easier without her standing before him, eyes accusing. "Sara, I quit because of you."

Not easily enough, apparently. Her tone was strained as she answered, though he didn't know what emotion drove it. "You can't be around me any longer, is that it?"

"_No. _I mean-I resigned because of you, but-"

"Save it." And now he knew. She was angry, deep in that elemental fury that was an awesome thing to behold, from a safe distance. Grissom was out of her sight, but he began to think that the distance wasn't enough to be safe. "I don't know what your problem _is,_ Grissom, but you are done screwing with me. I am leaving the lab, I am leaving Las Vegas, I am _done. _You can stay or go, whatever you like, but it has nothing to do with me, got it?"

To his surprise, Grissom found he was caught between despair at the thought of her leaving, and his own anger. "Yes, it does, Sara! I'm trying to do the right thing here!"

She made a strangled noise, and her voice rose. "The right thing? Since when do you care about the right thing? The right thing would have been not calling me to come here in the first place. The right _thing_ would have been not flirting with me and leading me on. You don't care about the right thing, Grissom, you just care about your stupid job!"

The fact that she was right on most counts deepened his shame, which in turn fueled his rage. "I'm giving it all up, Sara! All of it! My job is my _life_ and I'm giving it up so you can stay! So you don't have to deal with me any more-"

He choked on the mixture of anger and pain. Sara's breath came heavy over the phone, and there was a little silence as Grissom fought to get his emotions under control.

"You're leaving so I won't have to, is that what you're saying?" She sounded less furious, more puzzled.

Grissom swallowed. "Yes. I can't make up for hurting you. But if I go away, you...don't have to hurt any more."

Another silence, and when she spoke again, he felt the familiar ache across his chest, because the anger in her voice had been replaced by pain. "You're willing to do this now, but you couldn't give anything up to be _with_ me?"

He opened his mouth, but he had no words.

"Grissom..." He knew that timbre, he'd heard it in his own thoughts. It was the cracked note of a broken heart.

"I'm sorry," he said helplessly.

"I know. You couldn't do it." The pain hardened back to anger. "Do you even _see_ how screwed up this is? You're trying to fix something that can't be fixed, Grissom. You're breaking your own life to try to fix mine, but it doesn't _work_ like that."

"I can't help it. I have to try." His throat was dry.

"It's my life. I screwed it up. It's my responsibility, not yours." Now she sounded tired. "You don't have to feel guilty."

His anger exploded again. "It's not guilt, Sara!"

"Then what the hell is it?"

"I can't stand to see you in pain." The words were ragged, and they felt like they took all his air with them. He dragged in more. "I can't stand it, all I want to do is...is make the pain go away, but I can't. You won't let me. This is all I can do."

Sara didn't answer, but he hoped she was still listening. "I almost had it, Sara. But I ran out of time. I thought. So I gave up. And then you got hurt, and I..."

Grissom trailed off, struggling, and heard her let out a heavy breath. "You said you were going to leave," he managed.

"When did I say that?" she asked, sounding puzzled again, and he remembered that she didn't know what he'd overheard.

"In the SUV. Your phone...I heard what you and Nick were saying."

"Um." Another breath. "Uh, I don't really remember what I said."

"But it's true, isn't it?" he asked quietly.

"I think it's the right decision."

He felt his shoulders slump, and despair burrowed deeper into his chest. "You said you loved me," he muttered, without hope.

Sara made a choking noise. "Yeah, and look what it's done to me," she finally answered, with asperity. "All that for a guy who-never mind."

"I know," he agreed bitterly. A faint beeping noise reached his ear, and Sara grunted.

"Look, the battery's dying on this thing. Don't give up your job, Grissom. There's no need for both of us to go."

"Sara-" He didn't know what to say, but he had to try. "You can still change your mind. If there's anything I can do-"

Any reply she might have made was lost in a rush of static, and then the connection was cut.

**xxxx**

_It might be "Sin City," but it has its moments._

Sara pulled up her legs and wrapped her arms around her knees, staring down at the grid of lights below. The boulder she sat on was cold, and her breath was steaming a little in the chilly air, but she had her cap and her jacket and they were enough.

From her hillside perch, the city looked smaller, cleaner; mostly it was lights, white, red, the occasional burst of color from the bigger casinos. It was a tangle of gems in the blackness of the desert floor. It was...separate, for a while.

Sara sighed and rested her chin on her knees, eyes drifting from the lights to the barely perceptible line of the far mountains against the night sky. Only the absence of stars really told her where the land began.

She'd meant to spend the night putting together résumés for the forensics labs that seemed the most attractive. Letter of recommendation or not, she knew that her credentials and solve rate would at least get attention, if not more. But Grissom's phone call had destroyed that plan, throwing her into a morass of confusion and renewed anger, and eventually driving her out of her apartment to someplace quiet, where she couldn't be interrupted.

She hadn't even brought her cellphone. In fact, she'd stared at it for a long time after it had crapped out on her, realizing what she'd never consciously thought about-that someone had to have retrieved it from the wrecked SUV and put it with her other personal effects at the hospital.

_Grissom heard all that. I remember I was pretty pissed, yeah. But did I really say I loved him? _It just didn't seem like her-she'd scarcely admitted it to herself, even.

But then, slowly bleeding to death in a puddle was probably a decent extenuating circumstance.

_What the hell is up with him, anyway?_ What did he mean by "almost had it"? Why had he thought he'd run out of time?

And why was he laying all this on her right now? She had thought he'd be relieved, on some level, to have her gone. _No more Sara disturbing him. He could chase Sofia in peace. _

Or let her chase him. _Whatever. _

But the thought didn't ring true, after that agonizing phone call. It was a truth she didn't want to face, not now, but between Grissom's actions, and Nick's words, and Catherine's careful avoidance of the subject-

_I guess he feels something, anyway. _

Oh, who was she kidding? If he was willing to give up his job to make her feel better...

Or was it just that he couldn't let her go?

She growled under her breath. "_Dammit,_ Grissom." She knew she should pack up and go. Forget what she'd told the Sheriff, she should go back to her apartment and throw everything into boxes and _go. _Make a clean break of it, go somewhere new before Grissom pulled her back into doubt and the murkiness of hope.

But she'd heard his voice crack and waver, and she knew he already had.

A phrase she'd read years before floated through her thoughts. _You should have fallen in love with a happy man, if you wanted happiness. But no, you had to fall for the breathtaking beauty of pain. _

Her backside was numb. Sara pushed herself to her feet and headed back for her car, waiting patiently for her in the overlook's little gravel lot. _The whole point of the counseling sessions was to take control of my life. That's what I'm doing. And not Grissom, nor anybody else, is going to take it from me. _

Even if it took all her courage to do it.

**See Chapter 8**


	8. 8

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: The slight similarities to recent dialogue are making me a little uneasy, except that I wrote 'em all before the episodes aired. So I refuse to fuss.**

**Also: edited to fix the formatting. _Please_ do not believe I was so careless as to leave out those punctuation marks. I was just careless enough not to double-check that the chapter uploaded correctly. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Grissom went to work, partly because he couldn't think of what else to do, but mostly because he'd given two weeks' notice and had no intention of backing out of that. He arrived a little early and headed for his office, half-expecting to find the lock changed and Security waiting for him, but all was as he'd left it. Upon reflection, he wasn't sure if Ecklie was just biding his time, or if the man had decided that trying to explain what had happened - particularly given the insinuations he'd made - was not worth the pleasure of firing Grissom.

_Besides, who would he torment if I wasn't here?_

He still didn't know about Sara, and when for once he read the memos piled on his desk, no information was forthcoming. It was her scheduled night off; she might not be in because of it, or she might be gone for good. Grissom realized bitterly that the only way he'd know was by seeing if she showed up for the next shift.

Fortunately for his concentration, the night was busy; he paired Sofia and Greg to handle a robbery and a rape, and kept for himself the three trick rolls and two muggings. Scut work, but at least it kept him moving and occupied.

But there was still no news when he got back to the lab, nor any kind of message.

Grissom sent his CSIs home at the end of shift and stayed behind, ostensibly to work, but hoping against hope that Sara would get in touch with him, that his words had changed her mind.

But she didn't.

He finally quit waiting after three hours. There was no sense in staying any longer; she obviously wasn't coming. And it behooved him to go home and at least try to get some sleep; what was left of his team didn't deserve the foul temper that would no doubt overtake him by that evening.

Right now, though, he mostly felt numb. There was a roiling, black-acid knot of pain in his gut, and it would break out soon enough, but for the moment he was divorced from it. He went straight home, eschewing breakfast or any errands, even though he dreaded returning to his empty townhouse; he dreaded the moment most of all when he would have to stop moving, and let the pain catch up with him.

_But you brought it on yourself. _He parked his car, climbed his front steps, and put his key into the lock, wondering with a vague sense of distaste whether he should just drink himself unconscious. There was nothing like a hangover to distract one from...from other things.

But that seemed like cheating, somehow. He'd done what he'd done; it was meet to accept the full measure of pain that it brought.

He locked the door behind him and put his case down on the floor, and only then saw her, curled up awkwardly on the loveseat. Shock held him motionless.

Sara's hands were twisted tightly together. "I...need to talk to you."

Grissom swallowed. "How did you get in?" he asked, surprised at how calm his voice sounded.

She stood up. "I was waiting out front and your neighbor let me in. You really shouldn't leave your spare key with someone so trusting, Grissom."

"She's usually home," he replied, still trying to take in the fact that Sara was _there, _in his living room. "On the rare occasion that I lock myself out, she has the best odds of being available."

Sara smiled, the brief flash she used when she was nervous. "Ever the scientist." When he didn't say anything, she shifted her weight uncomfortably. "Are you busy? I should have called first, but I was afraid I'd...lose my nerve."

Grissom regarded her for another moment, then raised a brow, trying to hide the tremble in his hands. "I'm not busy, Sara."

He didn't know what to say, what to do. Instinct clamored for him to grab those slender shoulders and fasten his mouth on hers until she had no protests left, but reason scoffed. _She'd just punch you and stalk off. She's probably only here to ream you out anyway; might as well let her have her say. _

And his conscience chimed in. _You owe her that. _

He forced himself to move towards the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

"I - sure. Water's fine."

Grissom got down two glasses and filled them with ice cubes, trying to stretch out the moment. He really didn't know why Sara was there, and he had the feeling she was in search of some kind of closure. Which meant -

- Which meant that she'd soon be gone. And that this could the last time he'd see her. So he took his time, running water over the ice, listening to it crackle and snap, before walking back out to the living room with the glasses.

Sara hadn't sat back down; she had her back to him and her arms folded, and was staring out his front window. Grissom wondered wistfully if she was counting the seconds until she could escape. "Here."

She turned, eyes wide and guarded, and took the glass carefully. "Thanks."

They stood there for a moment, bereft of words, until Grissom finally waved back at the couch. "Uh...do you want to..."

"You don't have to quit," she said softly. "If I'm gone, Grissom, the problem's solved."

Grissom stared down at his glass without really seeing it, and then set it on the bookshelf nearby. "I don't want you to go."

"Yeah, I got that. It doesn't make any sense." Sara looked at her own glass, rotating it absently. "We can barely stand to be around each other."

"That's not true." The words were out of his mouth before he could censor them. At her disbelieving look, he amended them. "On my part, anyway."

She sighed. "What do you _want?_"

For the life of him, he couldn't force his voice to work. The look in Sara's eyes was familiar; impatience and disappointment. She turned away, wandering towards his coffee table to put down her glass. "This was a mistake, wasn't it? I should go."

"No." The word was out of his mouth before he felt it form, fueled by despair, and he took two steps forward to catch her elbow. She straightened with a jerk, pulling her arm from his grip and glaring at him, and once again the anger took him, though he couldn't tell if it was directed at himself, at her, or both.

"You want to know what I want? Fine," he snapped bitterly. "I want what you offered me, Sara, I want a chance. I _know _it's too late, way too late, but there it is." He spun around, appalled at his loss of control, and pinched the bridge of his nose. A last sentence slipped out, all-or-nothing. "I want you."

Grissom half-expected to hear his front door open and slam shut, but there was no sound for a long while. Finally, he made himself turn.

Sara was standing where he'd left her, one palm pressed against her mouth, and her lashes were wet. Fresh guilt tore at him. "I'm sorry," he said desperately. "Sara -"

She shook her head, and lowered her hand. Her smile was rueful, ironic. "Nothing's ever easy, is it, Griss?"

He licked his lips, out of words again.

"What brought on this change of heart?" she asked, and he could tell she was still angry, even though her voice was soft. "Did my falling down a hill give you some kind of wake-up call?"

He stared at her, taken aback. "No, I - that's when I thought I might have a chance again, until you wouldn't let me see you."

"Oh." The air huffed out of her, half a laugh, half a painful sound.

"I know it's too late," he repeated, not wanting her to think he was pushing for something she couldn't give. She stood haloed by the early sunlight, looking to him like something more than human; he wanted so badly just to touch her, to feel her life against his skin one more time, but instead he curled his hands into fists and turned away again.

"Y'know, up until Ecklie split the team, you could have said that to me and I would have told you that you still had a chance."

He flinched. Sara let out a long breath.

"I was wrong, Grissom" she went on quietly, all the anger gone. "I did exactly the same thing to you that you did to me."

He raised his brows at nothing, and turned back around. "With Sofia, you mean?"

"Yeah." Sara had folded her arms again, and looked...sheepish.

Grissom cocked his head, finding a tiny bit of humor in the midst of everything. "Serves me right, I guess."

Silence filled the space between them, and he felt the amusement fade. "It still doesn't work, does it?" Grissom asked at last, quietly. "I've hurt you too many times."

Sara shrugged, her face closed. "It's not all one-sided."

He uncurled his hands and rubbed his palms on his pants. "But it can't be fixed." The rage was gone, replaced by a heavy sadness.

"You finally get that, do you?" Her sarcasm was too gentle to sting.

Grissom looked away. "I still think you should keep your job," he said carefully, doing his best to steady his voice. "If you play your cards right, Ecklie will have to make you supervisor. If you want the position."

"Mmm." In his peripheral vision, he saw Sara unfold her arms. "From what I can see, it just means more hassle. And paperwork."

"There is that," he agreed. "You do get a bigger office, though."

She laughed, a faint sound of agreement, and put her hand on his arm. "Grissom, what do you do when you can't fix something?"

_A memory: glittering fragments of crystal. The sickening sense of horror. His mother's sad look, and her quick gestures telling him that accidents happen. _

_And the weeks he spent, pulling weeds in the neighbor's vegetable patch, until he could present his mother with five whole dollars in quarters, to replace the vase. The surprise on her face, and the love. _

_He'd bought her a new one, years later, when he understood how much the original had cost. But it was the cheap glass one she treasured. _

He looked down at Sara's hand, a stunned hope sparking inside him, and put his own over it. "Start over..."

Her nod made him look up. "There's too much hurt between us, Griss. I think maybe we should just forget about it. All of it. Go on like it never happened."

It was an absurd proposal. He knew that. The pain would always be there. But he also understood what she meant - that the only way to make it work was to forgive each other everything, and put it all to rest. No reminders, no restitution, no penance.

Just them.

"Right now?" Her eyes were so deep, so open; he barely heard the words pass his lips. She nodded again.

He let out a long breath that seemed to carry all the weight of his anger and sadness with it, and fulfilled the first in a long list of wistful fantasies by lifting his hands to cup her face. Her skin beneath his fingers was only skin, he knew that, but to him it was _Sara,_ the incredulous reality of her after all the loss of hope. "I'm sorry," he whispered, as the distance between them lessened. "Forgive me?"

Her hands were moving around his waist, and a smile was tugging at the corners of her lips. "Only if you forgive me."

"Done," he muttered, and their mouths met.

To Grissom, it was something he could hardly fathom -the sliding softness of Sara's lips and the tangle of her hair around his fingers, and at the same time the stunning knowledge that the whole thing wasn't one of his daydreams, it was real, a moment so full that his heart ached with it - the ache of new growth.

And when that kiss was over, there was another, and another; long sweet touches that soothed the old stings and at the same time pleased the primal part of him, because each one marked her as his even as her scent spread to his skin. Grissom found himself mumbling her name against her lips, making them curve, and when finally air became a necessity, he realized with astounded delight that he could always kiss her again - that there was theoretically no limit to kissing Sara.

A few breaths, a long and mutual dazed look, and then more kisses, deeper, hotter - he had to rein himself in a little, as instinct shouted in triumph from the base of his brain and he felt Sara quiver in his arms. Another fantasy was satisfied at the feel of her fingers on his nape, curling into his hair.

Then they parted again, and she sighed, and leaned her head on his shoulder as though it were too heavy to hold up. Grissom closed his eyes and held her closer. The blade of her shoulder felt delicate under his palm, and still far too prominent, and as she pressed her face into his neck, what he had known in the back of his mind came to the front of it - that however momentous a thing this was for him, it was probably even more so for her. He swallowed, wanting to apologize again, but they'd taken the step forward and he would not break their agreement to leave the hurt behind.

So he just held her. Gradually the tension seeped out of her, and when her arms loosened a little he pulled back enough so that she raised her head. Her eyes were wide and dark and still so vulnerable, and he wanted to promise that he would never hurt her, never let anything hurt her again.

But those were promises that mortals cannot keep. Instead, he just took her hand and led her over to his couch. He sat, and tugged until she sank down next to him and he could hold her again. "Sara," he whispered, and she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on his chest, and he was at peace.

**xxxx**

Her first thought on waking was _It doesn't hurt._ Sara had grown used to the aches of torn muscle and half-healed bone, of the strains of compensating for her injuries as they healed. It meant waking stiff and sore, though less and less as time went by.

But now she woke warm, and painless. She opened her eyes to unfamiliar dimness, and something big near her face that was reflecting her breath back at her, and an incredulous small smile touched her lips as she remembered. _Grissom. _

She'd long since given up believing in miracles, but she seemed to have gotten one, fragile as it was. Sara remembered waiting for Grissom, and arguing, and apologizing, and reaching what seemed to be the end of them...only to find it was actually a beginning. And she remembered the gorgeous delight of kissing him, and the sheer _relief_ of resting in his arms.

She did not, however, remember falling asleep in his bed, and certainly not with him in it as well. They were both fully dressed, lying on top of the comforter, though her shoes seemed to have vanished; the warm weight on her hip was apparently his hand, and the wall in front of her his chest, and she guessed that the firmness under her ear was his arm. Her own hand was curled against his sternum, and she could feel the slow rise and fall of his breathing against the backs of her fingers.

For someone as private as herself, she thought with amusement, and based on past experience, she should have been knotted with the tension of actually sharing a bed with someone else. She never slept well with another person - it made her nervous.

But she wasn't. She was more relaxed than she'd been since before her accident. And that, Sara realized, was a small miracle in itself.

She raised her head, and found Grissom looking down at her, face pensive. A hundred thoughts ran through her mind, ranging from asking how they'd ended up in his bed to the shyness that was lurking just under her surface, but she chose to begin as she meant to go on, and reached up to brush her fingers over his cheek. "Did you sleep at all?" she asked softly.

He smiled a little, tension easing, and caught her hand with his so he could press it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Some, yes." His eyes flicked up past her and back again. "It's only three-thirty."

"Mmm." Sara rolled off his arm and raised her own arms over her head for a careful stretch, taking great and secret pleasure in the sound of his indrawn breath. "So are you going to feed me, or what?"

Grissom laughed, and Sara realized that it had been a very long time since she'd heard that sound. She absorbed the sight of him, unguarded and smiling, his eyes crinkled with humor, and gave into impulse. Rolling back, she laid her palms on either side of his jaw and kissed his smile away.

The sound that rumbled through his chest was one of bliss, and his arms folded carefully over her lower back as he returned the kiss without stint or hesitation.

"You don't know how often I've wanted to do that," she muttered when they pulled apart.

He stroked a strand of hair from her face. "No, I don't. Tell me."

Sara pursed her lips, amused. "I think the first time was when you told that awful joke at dinner after your first lecture at the SFPD. You were way too smug."

Grissom blinked, looking startled. "That long ago?"

She shrugged. "It was just an impulse thing." She took a deep breath, smelling sleep and cotton and Grissom, and was very tempted to - tempt him. _But that's moving too fast, I think. _

"Food, Grissom," she reiterated, sitting up. "Or at least coffee."

Grissom followed suit, rolling his head around and producing a medley of pops and snaps. "I think I can supply both," he said.

Sara pushed carefully to her feet, now feeling a familiar twinge in her side, but it was less than the day before. She tugged her shirt down and ran her fingers through her hair, wincing as she hit a tangle.

"There's a brush in the bathroom," Grissom said, and she glanced back to see him smoothing the bed with absent precision.

Sara grimaced. "That bad?"

He looked up, and smiled again. "On the contrary. But you look like a woman in search of grooming implements."

She knew she was blushing, and it was ridiculous - she'd had more eloquent compliments from _David._ But it was the glow in Grissom's eyes that made the difference. "Back in a few," she managed, and retreated to the bathroom.

The master bath was large - and, Sara noted with approval, sparkling clean. A comb, a beard trimmer, and a boar-bristle brush lay scattered on the counter, the only indication of untidiness; a few bottles were lined up on the long counter, and Sara couldn't help taking a closer look. Shaving gel, hair gel, and cologne, and only the hair gel was without a faint film of dust.

Restraining her curiosity, Sara looked at herself in the mirror, and couldn't suppress a blink of surprise. Yes, her hair was rioting out of control; yes, her shirt was wrinkled and her lipstick long gone. But the woman staring back at her was someone she hadn't seen in well over a year.

The Sara in the mirror was happy.

It shocked her a little, and made her think as she worked Grissom's comb through her hair. _This is great...okay, total understatement there...but nothing's really settled._ She wasn't at all sure if this new, delicate relationship should even change her plans to leave the lab. Grissom, and the discomfort generated by working with him, had been the biggest factor in her decision to leave, but there were other reasons to consider. Ecklie being one of them.

The idea of leaving Grissom, though, now that she finally had a chance, made her feel almost panicky with distress. "Calm down" she muttered to herself, pulling a few strands of her hair from the comb's teeth and dropping them in the trash. _You don't have to make any decisions right this minute. And besides, he's resigned too. _

Sara washed her face and hands, filled the small plastic cup that stood next to the sink and drank, and squared her shoulders. _Relax. This is a good thing._ She looked at herself in the mirror one more time, and remembered the feel of Grissom's hands on her face, and his mouth against hers, and the fact that he wanted her. And watched with fascination as a slow smile grew.

The bedroom was empty when she reentered it, but she could smell coffee, and followed the scent back out to the main room. Pausing on the threshold of the hallway, she took a moment to observe Grissom before he realized she was there.

He'd changed his shirt for a fresh one with short sleeves, but his hair was still enticingly rumpled. He reached up into a cupboard to fetch down mugs, and Sara admired the lines of him, unguarded in this domestic moment on his home ground.

Grissom set the mugs on the counter and then leaned his hands on it, bowing his head, and fear erupted in the pit of her stomach. He looked - unhappy. _Oh shit. Did I make a mistake? Does he regret this?_

But as she forced herself to step forward, his head came up, and as he saw her his face brightened. "Coffee will be ready in a minute," he said. "What are you hungry for?"

_You,_ she wanted to say, and didn't. "Um, I don't know. Scrambled eggs?"

He nodded, and opened the refrigerator. "Sounds good. Or I can make something more like dinner, if you want."

"Grissom."

At the tone of her voice he halted, straightening, though his hand kept the fridge door open. Sara mustered her courage, and went on, finding it a little easier to speak to his listening back than to his face. "If you, um...regret this -"

His knuckles whitened on the handle of the door. "Do you?" he asked flatly, staring at the freezer in front of him.

"Are you kidding?" Sara's eyes widened. "_No. _I just wanted to...you looked kind of upset."

The fridge door snapped shut, and the next thing she knew, Sara's back was against the edge of the counter and Grissom was in front of her, so close that his hands were braced on either side of her and his breath was mingling with hers. "Don't ever suggest it, Sara," Grissom said, and his voice was low and just slightly desperate. "Please don't ever even think it."

She supposed she should feel trapped, but she didn't. It felt _good,_ to have him right there, right in her personal space. Sara reached up to touch his face-turnabout was fair play, after all. "Why were you upset then"

Grissom pressed gently forward into her touch. "I was afraid," he said, even more quietly. "I am afraid. What if _you _regret this? What if I can't make you happy?"

She stroked the soft hair of his beard, indulging herself, and smiled at him wistfully. "What if you get fed up with me? What if you really do prefer blondes? We can be afraid together, Grissom."

His laugh was both humor and relief, and he leaned in further to nuzzle the spot below her ear. "The only way I'd prefer blondes is if you dyed your hair," he said, then pulled back, brows going up in alarm. "Please don't."

Sara laughed in turn and laced her fingers behind his neck. "Trust me," she murmured, "it's not really high on my list of priorities."

Grissom sighed, and the rush of air made her skin tingle. "Good," he whispered, and brought their lips together.

It was just as sweet as earlier, Sara noted dimly under the rush of pleasure, but there was also more potential this time, though they were both keeping their touches light. Grissom's mouth was hot and firm, and when he laid a string of kisses along her jawline Sara shivered, caught in the softness of his lips and the prickle of his beard. Her hands tightened on his shoulders, and he came back to her mouth with a tiny, happy sound that made her heart rise.

Eventually they slowed and stopped, sharing slightly dazed smiles. "Food," Grissom repeated, drawing away and reaching for the fridge again.

Somehow the eggs got made. Sara buttered toast and watched Grissom collect plates and silverware, and they sat at the breakfast bar to eat. Sara felt practicality reasserting itself as they shared the jelly jar, but it was Grissom who spoke first.

"So..." And he wasn't looking at her, instead concentrating on his knife and toast. "Where do we go from here?"

Sara stared into her coffee cup, glad he'd brought it up. "Good question."

His jaw shifted, and then he looked up at her, expression carefully blank. "Are you still going to leave Las Vegas?"

"No." The word was without thought, and true, she realized as she spoke it. "I'm...not sure about the lab, though."

Grissom nodded, closing his eyes for a moment, and she could see both disappointment and deep relief in his face.

"You should stay," she added, picking up her fork. "For one thing, you can't leave poor Greg all by himself."

He snickered at the thought, then sobered. "Why...I mean...what are your reasons for leaving?"

Sara thought a minute, trying to assimilate the past several hours. "Mostly just because I was fed up?" she admitted after a moment, "and because between the two of us we were pulling the night shift apart." She pointed warningly at Grissom as he opened his mouth, and gave him a dangerous smile. "Don't say it. Over and done with, remember?"

He subsided, pursing his lips in mingled dismay and amusement, and she went on. "My life...I needed to reevaluate it, and I couldn't do that in that situation. Plus -" She rolled her eyes. "There's Ecklie."

"Conrad." Grissom's voice was dry. "He is something of a problem, isn't he?" He coughed. "Sara, I have to apologize -" and this time his hand went up to halt her. "I owe everyone on the team an apology for letting him do an end run around me. I didn't take him seriously enough."

Sara swallowed a bite of egg and shrugged. "He's an ass-kisser, you're not. The shift change isn't entirely a bad thing, either, it got Catherine what she wanted." She grinned a little. "Mostly."

Grissom chuckled. "I have the distinct feeling that Conrad bit off more than he can chew with her." He took a sip of coffee. "What exactly _did _he say to you?"

She wrinkled her nose. "He assumed that I was quitting so that you and I could be together, and then told me _you _were quitting, except he'd thought it was so you could be with Sofia." She winced.

"And since you knew very well that I wasn't quitting to be with you -" Grissom said guiltily, and Sara smiled ruefully.

"Bet he'd be delighted to know how much he screwed us up."

Instead of agreeing with her, Grissom looked thoughtful. "I'm not sure. It's me he dislikes, Sara. He's probably terrified of losing you - with visions of lower solve rates dancing before his eyes."

"The good of the lab," Sara quoted with some disgust. "He should be scared of losing you, too."

"Oh, he is." Grissom leaned back in his seat, cradling his mug in one hand. "Otherwise he would have fired me by now for yesterday."

_Yesterday? _Sara regarded him with a touch of suspicion. "Oh? What happened yesterday?"

Grissom blinked, and she saw a tinge of pink darken his cheeks. "Nothing, really."

"Uh-huh." He wasn't meeting her eyes. "Give."

His mouth twisted, and he shrugged. "I ran into him in the supermarket, and he said some things I didn't like."

"And?" Sara prompted, curious and amused.

Grissom sighed. "I kind of pushed him into the cereal shelf." His glance was apologetic. "He was really pissing me off."

She couldn't help it - she started laughing. "No way!"

"I'm afraid so." The pink had darkened, but he was grinning too. "Not the wisest thing to do to one's supervisor, in retrospect, but at the time..."

Sara leaned over and gave his hand a quick squeeze. "Good for you. I'll bet he deserved it."

Grissom shrugged, turning his hand to link his fingers with hers. "I'll apologize next time I see him, if I decide to stay."

Sara let him go and sat back. "You should stay," she repeated seriously. "You were right when you said it was your life, Grissom. It's what you _do._"

He sighed again. "I don't really want to leave," he admitted. "But I'd hate to see you give it up, Sara. You're an outstanding CSI."

"Hmm." Sara set down her napkin and stood up. "Excuse me," she said, and waved vaguely back at the hallway. Grissom nodded, and she headed for the bathroom - both to use the facilities, and for a chance to think.

She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd told Grissom that her life needed reevaluating. But the change in their relationship, assuming it held - _and I am damn well going to make sure that it does _- would definitely alter the dynamics at work. The tension between them - her most pressing reason to leave the lab - was relieved.

_I need to think about my life, yes. But wouldn't it make more sense to do it while gainfully employed? _

The truth was, it had torn her heart to think about leaving her friends behind, even though it would have been the best thing at the time. If she could stay with them - Nick, and Greg, and Warrick and David and Catherine...she was even inclined at the moment to look kindly on Sofia.

And Atwater was already hoping that she would change her mind and stay. It dawned on Sara that she had...leverage.

_We can even dodge the fraternization issue,_ she realized. Ecklie had said as much, and while she hated admitting that he was right, it was true that a not inconsiderable amount of power was sitting in her hands and Grissom's.

She washed those hands, noting that this time the woman in the mirror looked like someone with a secret.

A delightful, dangerous one.

When she returned to the main room, Grissom looked up, his smile going curious at the look on her face. "I have an idea," she said, and grinned.

His brows went up.

**See Chapter 9**


	9. 9

**Most of the characters and situations in this story belong to Alliance Atlantis, CBS, Anthony Zuicker and other entities, and I do not have permission to borrow them; most of the others are mine, and if you want to borrow them, you have to ask me first. No infringement is intended in any way, and this story is not for profit. Any errors are mine, all mine, no you can't have any. **

**Spoilers: through "No Humans Involved". **

**Note: The slight similarities to recent dialogue are making me a little uneasy, except that I wrote 'em all before the episodes aired. So I refuse to fuss.**

**Also Note: Many, many thanks to everyone who read and reviewed this story. Your feedback is what keeps me posting! And thanks one more time to Cincoflex-just because.**

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

Sheriff Atwater regarded them skeptically across the expanse of his desk, and tapped his fingers on its gleaming surface. Sara and Grissom returned his gaze with equanimity. Grissom felt reasonably secure about the cards they were holding; Atwater might huff and bluster, but the two of them together contributed more to the lab than any four others, and the Sheriff knew it. Both Grissom and Sara were willing to let him have his show of being in charge.

"So what you're saying, Supervisor Grissom, is that you tendered your resignation for ethical reasons? And you, CSI Sidle, did so for personal ones?" he said at last, eyes sharp. Sara nodded, and Grissom merely tilted his head. They hadn't stated exactly why they'd resigned, phrasing it so that asking would mean violating their privacy.

"And Supervisor Ecklie refused both resignations."

"He didn't take me seriously," Sara stressed, still a little angry at Ecklie's presumption, but restraining herself. Atwater was by no means stupid.

"He implied that we were merely jockeying for concessions," Grissom added smoothly.

"More than implied, in my case," Sara noted, and Atwater frowned.

"I take it your ethical dilemma has been resolved, Dr. Grissom?"

"It has."

Atwater's mustache twitched as he looked to Sara. "And you, CSI Sidle?"

She hesitated. "I've been feeling less than fulfilled by my work recently," she explained at last. Atwater's expression softened slightly at the reminder of her on-the-job accident, and she went on. "Dr. Grissom convinced me to reconsider." Which left the door open.

And Atwater obligingly stepped through. "Rest assured, we don't want to lose you," he said, falling into the practiced habit of negotiation.

Grissom watched with well-concealed appreciation as Sara ceremonially held up the hoops and Atwater jumped through them. A few weeks to make up her mind, then a discreet raise in pay, an assurance that Ecklie would be better-behaved in future - and the Sheriff got the bonus of feeling like a master manager, and of retaining an asset to his force.

As the two ran down with mutual assurances, Sara turned her wrist so that her hand was palm-up between herself and Grissom, and at that silent signal he enveloped it with his.

Atwater's sharp gaze did not miss the move. Grissom didn't back down from the Sheriff's eyes; this was a deliberate notice of how things were going to be. It gave Atwater the choice of confronting them, or of letting it pass and tacitly giving them permission.

_There's no guarantee that this is going to work, of course. _But they'd discussed it briefly, and decided that it was better to make a statement now rather than later. _Besides, we're both highly motivated to **make** it work. _

His dry thought did not match the distress he felt at the thought of losing Sara, now that he had her _with _him, but he had to acknowledge all reasonable possibilities. However, her firm grip on his hand belied some of the anxiety.

_She wants this just as much as I do. _ He thought of the years she'd been patient with him. _ More. _

One of the Sheriff's brows went up, but he didn't comment just then, instead placing his hands on his desk and rising slowly. "Ecklie's a capable bureaucrat and not a bad scientist," he said as they stood as well. "But personal situations cannot be permitted to interfere with the running of the lab, and I'll make sure he's reminded of that."

Sara smiled politely, and Grissom nodded in turn, both of them acknowledging the hidden warning. "Thank you, Rory," he said sincerely. The meeting had gone better than he'd dared hope.

Atwater smiled, the look unexpectedly human. "Good luck," he added to both of them, and waved them out the door.

Sara blew out her breath as they left the outer office. "Whew."

"That went well," Grissom said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, I was sure he was going to call us on the boss/employee thing," Sara said quietly. She headed for the water cooler standing nearby and pulled a cup from the holder.

Grissom shrugged, keeping his voice low as well to avoid being overheard by the workers passing by. "Promotions and raises are up to the lab's director; all I do is your performance evaluations, and those are mostly based on solve rates and other data. The real risk is in court."

"Yeah, well, let's burn that bridge when we get to it." Sara took a long drink. She still looked tired, Grissom noted, and somewhat strained, but her eyes were sparkling in a way that he hadn't seen in months, and it made him astonishingly happy to realize that he was the reason for it.

**xxxx**

Warrick didn't usually come in for shift early, leaving that to the true workaholics like Sara. He had no objections to staying late, or even pulling doubles every so often - that was the nature of the job, after all, and he could get just as hooked on the chase as anyone else. But he also liked his sleep, and preferred to roll in right on time.

Not today, however. Swing didn't get as many cases as either of the main shifts, but it was still a stretch sometimes with just three people - especially when he was used to working with five. _And a half, if you count Greggo. _And Catherine had been looking pretty wiped the last few days. So he'd set the alarm a little earlier, and come in sooner to get a head start on things. Partly out of affection for his new supervisor, and partly because Catherine in a sour temper made life more difficult for everyone.

Today, starting work early meant a visit to the PD to talk to one of the detectives. So it just so happened that he got to see Sara and Grissom coming out of Atwater's office. It shocked him good - not only seeing them in that particular location and at that time of day, but -

_Well, I'll be a - They're **together.**_

It was obvious to anyone who'd had a ringside seat to their relationship, such as it was, for the past four years. They weren't touching, or even really looking at each other; but as Grissom held the office door for Sara with absentminded courtesy, Warrick could see that the tension that had increased to an unbearable pitch over the last few weeks was gone.

His mind immediately seized on the implications. _Did they just work out whatever it was that was going on with them, or did they get farther than that? Not likely, but - _

Fascinated, he drifted into the shadow of a doorway and watched as they paused at the water cooler for a drink and a brief conversation. To the casual observer, it looked like nothing more than a cordial moment of discussion, but Warrick saw Sara's lips purse, saw Grissom's mouth curve in that rare, charming one-sided smile...

Then Sara crumpled the cup she held and tossed it into the trash; Grissom touched her lightly on the small of her back, his usual gesture, and they started in Warrick's direction. He put on his own best poker face, that of mild, cool interest, stepped out of the doorway, and headed towards them. "Hey, guys."

Sara raised her brows at him, a friendly gesture. "Hey," she said; Grissom nodded back, and they were past. Nothing unusual, nothing out of place.

Except...

Warrick knew. He had no evidence, none at all, but he _knew._ "Daaaamn," he whispered._ Nick is gonna be pissed that he missed this. They are so together. _

He kept in the grin, barely. It was way past time that the two of them got themselves straightened out.

**xxxx**

Sara found herself humming under her breath as she pushed open the locker room door. She'd only gotten a few hours of sleep, but she felt better than she had in months - and she knew why. It wasn't just the long, tender kiss she and Grissom had shared when they'd parted ways in his parking lot earlier, or the intense look in his eyes as he'd shut her car door for her. Nor was it entirely the satisfying knowledge that they'd gotten exactly what they'd wanted from the Sheriff, and that he would keep Ecklie from interfering with them.

It was both of those, and more. Sara felt good about coming to work, for the first time in a long time, and she was savoring it. Grissom had said that his work was his life, but in a sense it was hers, too. This was what she did, and she did it well. And it was very sweet to be looking forward to it again.

Yes, she was still giving her life a long, hard look. But in the meantime -

"Is it true?"

She jumped, nearly bumping into Nick as he stepped out in front of her. "Geez, Nick, you almost gave me a heart attack!"

"Is it true?" he repeated, looking almost grim.

"Is what true?" Sara asked, puzzled by his expression. She didn't think that the news of their abortive resignations had gotten out, but one never knew.

"You and Grissom are - " He tilted one hand back and forth. Sara rolled her eyes.

"I just _got_ here!"

"And?" Nick folded his arms.

Annoyed, she slipped past him, heading for her locker. "_If _we're doing anything, Stokes, it's none of your business."

She half-expected an argument, but instead he was silent. Sara opened her locker, wondering moodily just what rumors were making the rounds.

Finally, she heard Nick sigh, and turned. His expression was sober, and slightly apologetic. "You're right," he said quietly.

"Damn straight," Sara replied, though mildly.

He met her eyes, chin up. "You know I'm only worried because I care about you," he added, and she softened.

"I do know, Nick. But I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."

He cocked a brow at her, and they both knew he wasn't mentioning the fact that she hadn't been doing a very good job of it for a while. "Okay," he acknowledged. "Okay."

She punched him lightly on his right shoulder. "It's sweet of you to care, though. Who spilled the beans?"

"Warrick." Nick grinned at her acknowledgment, and the edge on it made her suspect that some kind of bet had been won or lost.

She huffed. "For a guy who pretends to be above it all, he's awfully nosy."

Nick snickered. "We're CSIs, Sar. We're supposed to be nosy."

Sara turned back to her locker and pulled out the items she'd need for the night before shutting the door again. "Don't...push it, Nick," she said, a little anxious. "We've only just..."

His hand on her shoulder was warm. "I won't."

She turned again, into his arms, savoring the strength of their friendship. He hugged her gently, both a reassurance and a quiet congratulation, before letting her go. "There'll be plenty of time to rag on you guys later."

Sara couldn't help laughing, which she knew was exactly what he intended.

Nick watched her go, watched her sling her badge chain over her head and stride towards the door - still a little fragile, but all the confidence that had been missing returned to her bearing. The door swung open as she neared it, and Grissom came through, reaching back to hold it open for her; she slipped past him with a casual hello, and if there was a flash of something more in their glances, it was a private thing, and Nick ignored it.

Grissom let the door close behind her and moved to his own locker, his face serene. "Good evening, Nick."

Nick nodded, popping open his own locker for his car keys and jacket. As he closed it again, he looked across at Grissom. "You hurt her again, I'll take you apart."

There was no surprise in his ex-supervisor's face, Nick noted - only amusement, and under that, both wonder and a faint shame. "I have no doubt of it."

Nick nodded again. "That said, congratulations." And grinned as the surprise showed up. Shrugging on his jacket, he threw the older man a casual salute, and headed out.

**xxxx**

Work was, as Grissom half-expected, work. Both he and Sara were experienced professionals, and tucking their emotions away for later was something that came with the job. So apart from the occasional pulse of still-new joy that he felt from time to time throughout the night, he was able to treat Sara as simply a member of his team. She acted the same, falling into the old casual courtesy that had characterized the best of their working relationship.

All the same, for this first evening, he paired Sara with Greg. If nothing else, both Sara and himself needed a little more time apart from each other, to assimilate all the changes. So he gave Sara and Greg a child abuse case - not a light assignment, but he didn't get to choose the cases that came in - and took Sophia along to his bug-ridden pair of corpses outside of town.

The few long looks his new CSI gave him as he collected specimens didn't escape his attention, but he ignored them the same way he'd learned to ignore her out-loud method of working. And she said nothing that wasn't case-related, simply taking photos and collecting evidence in the capable fashion he'd come to expect from her.

But when Sofia was bent over some small fragment of something, he took a moment to think about her, and Ecklie's assumption. It was true that she'd flirted with Grissom, in a casual sort of way - more, he'd thought, because it was fun for her than because she was truly serious. And it wasn't that she was unattractive - she had nice curves, and that fall of thick hair was eye-catching.

But none of it made the least bit of difference. Sure, his male sensibilities could appreciate her looks, and his intellect could admire hers, but in the end he was far more interested in her as a CSI than as a female. Sara was the only woman who held his attention.

It was when they returned to the lab and he walked back into the locker room that he discovered one of the prices of this new miracle in his life. Sara and Greg sat close together on one of the benches, hunched over, and for a lurching, sick moment he thought that something terrible had happened. It took a major effort of will to not stride forward and touch her, now that the barriers between them were gone.

Then he realized that Sara was comforting Greg, not the other way around, and the rush of relief was tinged with guilt. Sara glanced up, but shook her head at him when he looked inquiring, and he nodded and went back out. She had things under control.

She came to his office later, near the end of shift, to collapse into a chair and let out a long breath. "You okay?" he asked, wanting very much to go around the desk and pull her up and into his arms, but restraining the impulse. _Work is work. _

She waved a hand in a gesture that implied eventual all-rightness. "That was a tough one. Greg took it pretty hard." Grissom opened his mouth, and she shook her head again. "He had to have an abuse case sometime, Grissom. It's okay."

Sara propped her elbows on her knees and rubbed her hands over her face. "This was worse than the Maltin case," she said tiredly. Grissom knew it - he'd read the slip - but he didn't say so. It was her turn to speak, and besides, on one level he was conscious of a great relief that Sara once again felt free to come to him to decompress. "I don't think Greg ever really thought about this aspect of it."

"Is he all right?" Grissom asked. He'd known this moment would come for Greg eventually, he just hadn't known what case would trigger it. It was one of the inevitable parts of the job.

"He will be, I think." Sara straightened. Stress showed on her face, but instead of just feeling helplessly worried, the back of Grissom's mind began making plans to take her home and feed her.

"Are _you _okay?" he asked again, tipping down his glasses to look at her, and her brief expression of irritation faded into sheepishness.

"I will be," she said. He nodded.

"Is there anything I can do?"

She grinned suddenly, a wicked look. "Can I get back to you on that?" And there it was, the old flirtatiousness, under control but definite. Grissom smirked.

"Please do."

Sara snickered, and pushed to her feet. Grissom picked up a report as she headed for his door, but she turned in the doorway and looked back at him. "Would you...like to have breakfast with me?"

Her face, her posture, were uncertain, and a pang hit him, but he didn't hesitate. "I would love to have breakfast with you."

And her smile was his reward.

**xxxx**

Greg sat in the driver's seat of his little car, breathing the sweet dawn air that came in the open window and thinking. He was by no means ready to go home.

It was odd - he'd processed thousands of samples over the years, swabs and sheets and clothes and more swabs, but he'd never _really _ considered what they meant. Probably a defensive mechanism, he thought now, with the clarity that comes with a certain level of desolation, and with shock.

After all, he'd never come close to that kind of horror. He'd grown up in what was almost a stereotypically happy family - loving parents, safe home, no major traumas. No one had ever touched him inappropriately, or raised a hand to him bar a mild spanking. He'd never gone hungry.

He'd had no _concept. _Not until now.

He could be proud of himself for one thing, at least - he'd got through it. He'd been professional and efficient, he'd collected evidence and taken photos and documented with appalled precision. He'd held in the shakes and the nausea until they'd gotten back to the lab.

And Sara had been his mainstay. She'd shown him what to do by example, mixing competence with gentle compassion; then she'd listened to his ranting, and put an arm around his shoulders when he'd wept a few desperate sobs for those poor kids.

And she'd told him there was no shame in it. That the trick, and it was a difficult one, was to balance the horror and the righteous rage with the knowledge of his own limits, and those of the system. _It's hard, _she'd told him, with a rueful smile. _It's not something you can do, every time. But Grissom's right, you can't make it personal, because if you do you end up helping nobody. _

Greg hadn't wanted to accept it at the time, but he could see the sense in it. Like it or not, he was part of the system, and the system had to function with a certain detachment. _Fair enough. _

But he still wasn't ready to go home.

Well, there was one place he could lose himself for a while, turn off the loop in his brain and just concentrate on one thing. Sure, the place would have a few kids in it, but not many at this hour of the morning, and he'd be staring at a screen most of the time anyway. _A few rounds of Centipede to start with, maybe. _

He pictured the big vintage game console in his head, trying to shut out the images of the night and their implications, but the sound of his name made him open his eyes.

Grissom was standing next to Greg's car, the early sunlight gilding him slightly. "You okay?" the older man asked kindly.

Greg gave the question some serious thought, and Grissom waited patiently. "I think so," he said at last. "I mean, I think I will be."

Grissom nodded. "It's always hard, the first time."

Greg looked up at him. "Does it get easier?"

Grissom pursed his lips. "No," he said simply.

"Good," Greg said, feeling fierce. "It shouldn't."

Grissom nodded again, and leaned one hand on the car's roof. "Pace yourself," he advised. "If you need a break during these kinds of cases, take it. You'll do a better job because of it."

"And don't get too involved." Greg couldn't resist the poke.

His supervisor shrugged. "Even I don't always take my own advice," he pointed out, unperturbed. "If you need to talk, Greg, you know where to find me."

Touched, Greg blinked. "Thanks."

Grissom patted the roof and left, moving across the parking lot with his distinctive lumpy stride. Greg idly watched him go, mulling over the surprise of Grissom's understanding; it took him a minute to realize that Grissom had stopped halfway across the lot to talk to someone standing by their car.

To talk to Sara, in fact. Greg sat up straight as he watched them; even at this distance it was clear that the acrimony was gone. Then Sara laughed - Greg could see the flash of her teeth - and laid her hand on Grissom's chest. The older man folded his own hand over it, and smiled back.

_No **way.** _Greg felt his jaw loosen as he watched Sara climb into her car and Grissom lean down to kiss her through the open window. Suddenly afraid of being caught spying, he started his engine and pulled quickly out of the lot. _No **way**._

But it was amazement, not protest, and he felt a smile of his own growing as he headed for the arcade. At least something good had come out of the night. _Maybe that means Sara will stay. _

Greg put on his sunglasses as the light strengthened, feeling a bit better. He would go drown his thoughts in beeps and flashes and the thrill of high scores, because things were still too raw to think about. But later, he thought, he might look into volunteering at the local Y or something.

After all, there was more than one way to get involved. And to help.

**xxxx**

Sara found that her stomach was tight with an odd mix of anticipation and nerves as she drove home. When impulse had made her blurt out an invitation to breakfast, she'd had a restaurant in mind, but somehow it had morphed into something less public, with Grissom looking secretive and telling her that he'd take care of things. She would have argued, but he seemed to _want_ it so much...

She looked around as she closed her apartment door behind her. It was tidy - she was never able to let clutter accumulate - but...

A few minutes later she looked at the dusting cloth in her hand. "What are you doing?" she muttered. "The place is fine. He can live with it."

Replacing the cloth in its drawer, she looked down at herself. Nothing she'd done that evening had left a physical residue on her clothing or her skin, but remembering made her suddenly yearn for a shower and clothes without a psychic stink.

Scooping up her phone, she punched the speed dial for Grissom's number, and got his voice mail. Tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder, she sat to unlace her boots. "Hey, Grissom. I'm going to take a shower, so let yourself in - the front door code is 8763, and I'll leave my door unlocked. See you in a bit."

One of the things she loved about apartment living was the near-inexhaustible supply of hot water. Sara let the steam and the soap wash away the night as best they could; it was by no means a perfect solution, but it helped.

And when she emerged from the bathroom, wearing comfortably worn jeans and a deep green T-shirt, she was greeted by the sight of an enormous bouquet of daisies on her breakfast bar. "Wow."

Grissom turned from her counter, where he was unloading a large paper bag, and his smile dissolved the last of her uneasiness. Sara took three steps forward and kissed him with enthusiasm.

He didn't hesitate to return the kiss, pulling her close. Sara made a pleased sound against his mouth, and then big hands closed on her waist and lifted her lightly onto the countertop. She squeaked, and let her fingers find his hair.

When he pulled away a few moments later, they were both slightly breathless, and his cheeks were a little flushed. Sara grinned down at him, enjoying the higher angle. "I've been wanting to do that all night."

Grissom laughed, and kissed her chin. "This is weird. In a good way," he confessed, his thumbs stroking her hips in an absent caress. "I keep feeling like I'm going to wake up."

Sara rubbed his scalp lightly, feeling him push into her hands at the sensation. "I won't set the alarm if you won't."

"Deal," he said, and lifted her back off the counter even though she was perfectly capable of jumping down herself. He stole one more kiss on the way, and when Sara stepped back, she had to laugh at his rumpled hair.

"Very cute," she teased, and he gave her a mock glare and tried to smooth it down, without much success. Sara turned her attention to the flowers, picking them up and inhaling the scent, which for some reason always brought baby powder to her mind. "You didn't have to do this, Griss."

He went back to the bag, lifting out containers. "It was good advice."

That didn't make any sense, but Sara was more interested in finding a vase for the bouquet. The flowers looked perfect at the end of her breakfast bar, an explosion of bright thin petals, and while they didn't match the placemats she dug out for breakfast, it didn't matter.

Grissom had brought a fruit salad and something quichelike, and a selection of bagels, and Sara found by the end of breakfast that she'd eaten half again as much as she usually did - either because the food was good, or because Grissom kept putting more of it on her plate, she wasn't sure which. It made her sleepy, but that too was a good thing; she felt full and contented, and had to smother the desire to go nap in the sunlight coming in her balcony door.

Instead, she cleared the bar, with Grissom wrapping up the remainder of the food and putting it away into the fridge. They ended up on the couch with their tea, arguing amiably about print powder, and then Grissom asked if he could turn on the TV to catch the news. Sara acquiesced, curling up next to him with unfamiliar delight, and smiling to herself at the relaxed sigh that escaped him as his arm went around her shoulders.

She remembered it, this time, in a vague and dreamy fashion - the low chuckle, the loss of warmth that made her growl a little, the slide of arms beneath her back and knees. She was lifted in a way she hadn't been since she was small, and cradled against him, and a moment later laid down on the cool sheets of her bed. The blanket floated down over her as she sighed. A delicate brief kiss at the corner of her mouth, a longer one pressed against her temple, and then she was asleep.

**xxxx**

It was when she woke that the pain hit. He wasn't _there._ Sara felt her throat clog as she struggled with the emptiness, and the fear that had been lurking underneath her joy came rushing in to chill her. _What happened, did he decide he couldn't do it after all? _

Maybe it was because she kept falling asleep on him. No, that didn't make sense, but she was too upset to reach for logic. _Hell. I knew this was too good to be true - _

Her eyes were burning. _Maybe we moved too fast. Maybe we can't do this, maybe it's too late or we hurt each other too much - _

Sara yanked at the sheet, and heard the crackle of paper. Lifting her head, she saw a folded note on the other side of the bed, and gulped.

But Grissom's precise handwriting held no apologies or regrets. _You're gorgeous when you're sleeping, _the note read. _I - _ and something was scribbled out - _didn't feel comfortable invading your space without your permission. But you hereby have permission to invade mine any time you like. _

_See you tonight. _

If her laughter was a little choked, she didn't mind. Sara blinked away the blur and folded the paper back up with care.

_I guess I need to learn to have a little faith. _

It wasn't going to be easy, this learning, not for either of them. _But if we make it work - _

_It's going to be so worth it. _

Sara threw back the covers and got out of bed. Time to get on with her life.

**xxxx**

Grissom locked his car door behind him and walked towards the lab, wondering if Sara would be annoyed with him for leaving that morning. He had been very tempted to simply slide into her bed next to her, and hold through the day the way he'd got a taste of the day before, but it was her apartment and her bed, and he didn't want to push. After all, it had barely been twenty-four hours since they'd started over. _Though in a way it feels like a lifetime. _

He'd been delighted when Sara fell asleep against him again - first, because it made it clear that she trusted him, but also because she desperately needed the rest, whether she'd admit it or not. Her injuries might have healed, but her reserves were still dangerously low.

And what a strange joy it was to realize again that he could actually do something about it. Grissom's eyes narrowed with satisfaction as he entered the building, though he was still a little apprehensive. This was all so new, and he was desperately afraid that he would do or say the wrong thing.

Passing the DNA lab, he saw Sara already there, deep in conversation with Mia. As he unlocked his office door and pushed it open, he saw an envelope lying just inside the door, where it had been pushed in through the crack.

Scooping it up, he tore it open to discover the note he'd left for Sara that morning. Below the initial "G" was Sara's hasty scrawl. _Next time, why don't you stay for dinner? _

He glanced over his shoulder and saw her through the glass, looking at him, hands on her hips and one brow arched, and he couldn't help the smile that spread over his face. _If this really is a dream...please don't let me wake up. _

_Ever. _

**End.**


End file.
